


dead men walking

by errorryx



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (it's not serious or harmful), Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Injury, Dissociation, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Food Issues, Gore, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Knives, M/M, Multi, Nonverbal Communication, Nosebleed, Physical Abuse, Plot Centric, Protege Tommy AU, Psychological Trauma, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 63
Words: 93,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28816143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errorryx/pseuds/errorryx
Summary: Two years after the outbreak of a zombie apocalypse that shut down society across the globe, a group of survivors live in turmoil that has little to do with the monsters that forced them all together. As it turns out, the end of the world tends to bring out the worst in people.Tensions have been steadily rising since Wilbur’s death and Tommy’s exile from the group. For once, the various factions that have sprung up since Wilbur’s initial insurrection aren’t in imminent danger of attack, as Dream seems to be withdrawing, reevaluating his strategy.That’s not to say anyone feels safe. Least of all George and Sapnap, who are the only ones bearing direct witness to Dream’s increasingly strange and violent behavior. They make the decision to separate from him. For a few short weeks, it seems like George might finally be able to let his guard down.Then he and Sapnap wake up far, far away from home.Disclaimer- While this borrows heavily from the storyline of the SMP and the relationships that those characters have with each other, there are also some key differences. This is a real life AU, not in-game.Also, CHECK TAGS! it starts out pretty traumatic and gets worse and worse as it goes along
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Eret & Floris | Fundy, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 317
Kudos: 523





	1. George

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the fic! some quick information before we get started:
> 
> this fic updates daily. yes, daily. i've posted a chapter every single day since january 17th, with one exception, which was intentional on my part. i still reserve the right to miss a day just in case, but at this point not even god herself could stop me from posting new chapters.
> 
> this fic deals with heavily triggering subjects and it only gets worse as it goes on. check the tags for specifics and feel free to drop a comment if i need to change, add, or remove a tag or trigger warning. i will probably be happy to change it. there is no smut of any kind in this fic, because i don't have an interest in writing it. 
> 
> i have other fics too. if you're exhausted by the idea of a long fic like this, consider those instead, they're both much shorter. one is a ghostbur one-shot with a playlist to listen along to while you read, and the other is an ongoing karlnap time travel fix-it kind of thing. 
> 
> finally, i love comments! i love getting them and reading them, even if i don't always respond anymore. they're the main thing that keeps me writing this, so if you want me to keep going, don't be afraid to leave a bunch of comments! that's the best way to show your support. kudos don't really mean a lot to me, but comments let me know real people are enjoying what i'm writing. 
> 
> have fun! feel free to comment as you go!

This was not his bed.

Colors were still dancing in front of his eyes, but that was no different. George always woke up miserably. Almost nothing could shake him awake all at once, not even the feeling of something being deeply wrong. He was used to that feeling by now. And he was used to the feeling of being in the wrong bed. It had been almost a month since he’d moved to the new house, and most mornings he spent several half-conscious minutes thinking he was back in Dream’s house- thinking maybe he had never left.

This wasn’t that. This wasn’t either of his beds. This was a floor. Why was he asleep on the floor?

George sat up and blinked until the blurry colors faded away and he could see. It was dark, but he could at least feel from the constant bumping around that he was in the back of a moving vehicle. He was exhausted, but he tried to wake himself up a little more so he could think clearly. Who had a car? Only three people he knew about. Sam, Techno, Dream. Sam had a blue SUV. Techno had a shitty little sedan, and was constantly working on that pickup truck that they all knew would probably never run. 

Dream had his utility van.

There were no seats. There was too much space to be anything but Dream’s van. Had someone stolen his van? Dream would never let that happen, right? And what enemies did they have that would steal it? Schlatt was dead. Wilbur was dead. Neither of them were the kind of dead that left things ambiguous. They were corpses in the ground. 

George could hear breathing beside him, and he knew whose it was the instant he stopped to listen. He’d recognize Sapnap’s sleep-breathing anywhere, even while confused and exhausted in the back of a van. He reached out in the dark and grabbed onto his arm, shaking him awake.

“Karl, what the hell,” Sapnap murmured.

George let out a shaky laugh at that. “Not Karl. It’s me.”

“Oh,” Sapnap yawned. “Sorry. Wait, why are you here? Is something wrong? Where’s Karl? Where’s-” He stopped. “Where are we?”

George’s eyes were finally adjusting to the darkness, and he could make out the corners of the van’s interior. “It’s just you and me in here,” he said. “I woke up right before you. I don’t know what’s happening either, but I think we got fucking kidnapped.”

“You don’t- no,” Sapnap said. “No. Come on. He’s not this crazy. He can’t be this crazy.”

“I was thinking maybe someone stole the van-”

“You know no one stole the van. He’s got a sixth sense for this van. Remember the time when Tommy slashed one of his tires? And we had to get up in the middle of the night and-”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Look, when the door stops, if it’s him, if it’s not him, we run for it, right? We just run.”

“We can’t do that,” Sapnap said. “It’s night. He’ll have- he’ll have thought this out. We’ll be somewhere far out and isolated. Some little sanctuary or bunker he’s got. We don’t know how to get home, we don’t have anything on us.”

“So we just let him do whatever he’s planning?”

The car screeched to a stop, slamming them both against the wall of the van and effectively cutting the conversation short. The side door opened, revealing Dream holding a flashlight, with that stupid mask on so George couldn’t see his eyes. Not that it would have helped. Dream could be pretty unreadable when he wanted to be. 

“Get inside, come on,” he said. His tone was almost friendly. He reached out a hand and Sapnap took it, probably instinctually, as he snatched it back a moment later and got out of the van himself. George followed, stars flooding his vision once he stood up. The van was parked right next to a house that he’d never seen before. Dream held open the door for them and shooed them both inside before slamming it shut.

Inside, there was electricity. George and Sapnap’s new place didn’t even have electricity and here Dream was with a second base all lit up. Completely unfair. Dream switched off his flashlight and tossed it aside lazily, lifting the mask off his face-he’d etched a crude smiley face into it, solidifying that he really had gone off the deep end this time- and looking directly at George. 

“You guys hate me, right?” he asked.

They’d thought he was dead at one point. Right before the initial outbreak in California, Dream stopped returning texts, stopped showing up to classes, dropped off the face of the earth. It wasn’t an immediate call for alarm- he could be pretty spacey. He had episodes where he’d be caught up in his own thoughts for days at a time, forgetting everything else. George and Sapnap had learned that it would pass eventually, and in the meantime, to leave him to it. 

But they were wrong, and far too focused on finals to think about it, and by the time they went over to his apartment he’d been missing for almost an entire week. That was how the place had looked by George’s estimation, anyway. They had no idea how long he’d actually been gone.

They filed a police report. The police contacted his mom and sister, who hadn’t heard from him in an equally long time. They contacted the lab where he interned, who reported that Dream had tendered his resignation and hadn’t even shown up for his official last day. Another week went by with no answers, and then the “minor biohazardous anomaly” that everyone had been reassured was safely contained within a few small towns in California turned out to be not so contained after all.

The police stopped looking for Dream because they’d been put on zombie-killing duty. Then most of the police ended up becoming zombies. Then mostly everyone ended up becoming zombies. George and Sapnap had to accept that wherever Dream was, he was probably a zombie, and there was nothing more they could do for him. That was, until they found him again- or he found them, as alive as ever if not more so, brimming with ammunition and grim resolve. His return had almost certainly saved them from an eventual death.

Dream took charge. Easily, naturally, completely. He taught George and Sapnap how to kill zombies more methodically, and decided on a place for them to live rather than foraging through town like they had been. He found other survivors and welcomed them into their little society. He organized a community house where everyone would have access to food and weapons and training. He kept people safe as best as he could, and countless zombies fell to his guns and his machete. Eventually, people got to feeling safe, even hopeful.

It didn’t last, of course. 

One of the things that George had always had a hard time reconciling with the Dream he’d known for the last two years was that before the apocalypse he wasn’t a brilliant fighter, a strategist, a leader. He was a scrawny 20-year-old nerd with few friends who had trouble distinguishing his dreams from reality sometimes. He forgot most of the time who Dream used to be- just a person, just an adorable idiot, just his friend.

Now he was approximately none of those things. George couldn't remember when exactly he’d stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment! i'm super open to feedback, suggestions, anything you got on the brain.


	2. George

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw this chapter for physical violence. and most of the following chapters.

“Dream, what the fuck are you doing? Why did you bring us here?” Sapnap yelled. “Have you lost it? I know me and George left you, but if you really wanted us to come see your secret base, you could have just asked before you kidnapped us!”

“So you hate me?”

“I was on the fence before, but yes. I fucking hate you.” He spat on the ground for emphasis, which was such an absurdly Sapnap thing to do. In spite of things, the corners of George’s mouth twitched.

“What about you, George?” Dream asked, seeming unfazed.

“That’s a ridiculous question,” George said, his heart racing. Words came pouring out of his mouth, mostly in the wrong order. “You’re my best friend, you dumb fuck, you- you’re sick, Dream. I can’t- you’ve fucked up, but I can’t hate you.”

“Oh, come on. You hate me. I know you do.” A lopsided smile crept up Dream’s face. It was the exact same smile that always used to make George nervous, but now he was nervous for a very different reason.

“Why are we here?” Sapnap asked.

“I’m trying something out,” Dream said. “Two things out. I don’t expect your cooperation, but I don’t really need it. You’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future.”

Sapnap looked at George, and George looked back. Sapnap’s eyes flicked back to the door for a split second, and George nodded. 

“Yeah, not gonna happen.” Dream pulled out his gun, and they heard the click of the safety being switched off. Automatically George reached for his own gun, but of course he didn’t have it. Even if he’d had it on him before, Dream would have taken it. “Both of you, come take a seat over here on the couch. I want to make some things very clear. You’re not leaving. You’re not escaping. You’re not doing anything unless I let you do it.”

“Dream, I-” Sapnap’s eyes began filling with angry tears, and he ducked his head, embarrassed. “What- why are you-”

“You left me,” Dream said. “You’re never going to do what I ask you to again, because you hate me. Both of you. You left me with no one to back me up in case something happens. I’m trying to fix that problem.”

“And what, you think you can convince us back? You think threatening us will work?”

“It already has,” Dream shrugged. “The first try was an absolute success.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Tommy, come on in,” Dream called, turning his head.

And Tommy walked into the room.

Tommy had been a problem for Dream and his friends for the entirety of the existence of their little apocalypse-survival community. He was a hyperactive little bastard, always getting in the way, occasionally intentionally sabotaging their operations. His brothers had always let him run around unchecked, sometimes encouraging his antics. When Wilbur finally lost it and endangered everyone in his last-ditch effort to take down Dream, Tommy was right by his side. Admittedly, he’d been trying to talk him down, but he’d been Wilbur’s main co-conspirator and remained fiercely loyal to him even after he died. 

As punishment, Dream kicked him out. Technically it was Tubbo’s call, but it was Dream who’d forced his hand. That was almost two months ago, and no one had seen or heard Tommy since. George had assumed he was dead. No one survived the zombies without a community, a support system, especially not a sixteen-year-old kid. There was no way Tommy would be able to carve out a life for himself on his own.

And there was absolutely no way he’d feel anything but intense hatred towards Dream. There was no way, on seeing him, he’d do anything but try to kill him with no regard for his own life. 

Yet here he was, standing next to Dream, his eyes entirely blank. Well, his eye- the other one was bandaged over with what looked like a ripped t-shirt tied around his head. It hardly surprised George that Tommy was looking pretty beat up. What surprised him was why he was standing beside Dream and against them. Tommy had never liked Dream, not once during any of it, and he hadn’t been shy about admitting it. Even though Dream hadn’t directly caused his brother’s death, or even orchestrated it as far as George knew, Tommy had still blamed Dream and his other brother Techno for it. 

“Tommy?” George asked tentatively. “Are you okay?”

Tommy stared back at him, a cold, disinterested gaze. He looked terrifyingly like his brother. He was wearing Wilbur’s old coat, even more torn up than it had been on Wilbur. George felt a rush of guilt. They’d tried to convince Dream not to exile Tommy- everyone had- but maybe if he and Sapnap had pushed harder, been more vocal, given him an ultimatum, he might have backed down. It was something George had been thinking of and beating himself up about a lot recently. He could have done more. He should have done more.

“Do I do it now?” Tommy asked Dream, his voice beyond defeated, beyond any feeling at all. 

“Go ahead,” Dream said, and Tommy stepped forward and punched Sapnap with no apparent restraint. The impact knocked Sapnap back, and he let out a loud cry that was cut off as he cracked his head against the back of the couch. He didn’t sit back up. 

George was stunned. “What- Dream, why-” He moved to Sapnap and frantically checked for a pulse. It was still there, but his head was already bleeding. George had no idea how bad it was. He turned to Dream, who was almost smiling.

“Come with me,” he said. “Tommy, you stay down here.” He took George’s arm, gripping it tightly, and pulled him upstairs. George briefly considered resisting, staying to protect Sapnap, but he was selfishly afraid for his own life. Dream still had that gun in his hand, and he hadn’t put the safety back on. 

George was still fairly certain Dream wouldn’t shoot him, but for the first time, he wasn’t willing to take that risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the concept of protege tommy. i'm a huge fan of rewind, which used to update daily too, with much longer chapters than mine. the fact that the author updated so much writing for so long is insane.
> 
> george is kinda the main character, but there are gonna be other povs as well. sapnap's pov is up next.


	3. Sapnap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they fight.

He’d had worse. Much worse. The pain was background noise for him at this point. But when Sapnap woke back up in the dark, alone, he couldn’t help but scream.

It was mostly out of anger, but when his voice got tired and no one had come to answer him, he began theorizing, and that was when the fear came. Sapnap was not good at being alone. If he’d been in Tommy’s place when he was exiled, he would be dead within days. He needed friends, which was why he and George had stayed by Dream so long after it was evident that he was being needlessly destructive. He’d been able to fill that hole with Karl and Quackity once he and George had left, but he had no idea how long Dream planned to keep him down here- it would probably kill him if it went on too long.

He expected Dream to come eventually, but when the door at the top of the stairs creaked open, letting in enough light for Sapnap to briefly catch a better view of his surroundings, it was only Tommy bringing him food and water. Forgetting momentarily that he and George had agreed to try to wait this out, Sapnap lunged at him, feeling sure he’d be able to overpower him. Tommy was a dumb, injured kid who’d spent two months on his own, and Sapnap was as well-fed as it got in the apocalypse, plus he was strong. He’d always been able to toss Tommy around like a rag doll- almost anyone could. (Karl was a possible exception.) 

But he seemed to be expecting it, and to Sapnap’s surprise, in one swift movement he set down the plate and bottle and pushed him away forcefully. It was all Sapnap could do to catch himself and avoid another injury. He got back to his feet, took a quick moment to analyze Tommy’s stance- he seemed to have relaxed again, but his feet were too firm on the floor for him to have let his guard down. Sapnap made as if to attack him again, but at the last second dodged around and made for the door. 

Tommy grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back effortlessly. Sapnap wrenched his hand away and punched him in the gut. With zero hesitation Tommy grabbed his wrist and twisted just slightly, and in Sapnap’s alarm he took the opportunity to hit him back- by his estimation, not nearly as hard as he could have. 

Sapnap broke away, panting but exaggerating, shrinking in on himself to suggest resignation. He put a hand against the wall as if to steady himself. Tommy was clearly reluctant to go on the offense, even though he’d always been the reckless one in previous skirmishes they’d had. There was very little that Sapnap recognized in his fighting style. 

He’d watched Tommy take on zombies countless times, which he was good at because he was so fast, not because of any strength. That was what it took to combat zombies- cleverness, speed, fast reflexes. Strength was almost worthless in a horde of zombies. You couldn’t risk fighting them at close proximity. You had to disable them from a distance, then cut off their heads once you were sure it was safe to do so. Tommy was always a prodigy at killing hordes at a time, which was probably why he’d lasted so long without getting exiled for being a brat in the first place.

This wasn’t him. He wasn’t a brute force guy. He avoided physical fights when possible and got his ass handed to him when he couldn’t. Sapnap had fought him before a couple times, and he’d always gone easy on him and won handily regardless. He had to stop thinking of Tommy in relation to how he used to be, for now, and consider him an entirely different person.

His only chance was faking Tommy out. He clearly couldn’t take him on fairly. But Sapnap could only strategize to a point. He wasn’t much better at it than Tommy had been. Impulsive to a fault, Dream had always said, and he could go to hell, but he was right.

He didn’t care. He knew he had to try every single chance he got, because the longer he was here, the worse off he’d be. He would have to close the door behind him and quickly find a way to block it off, then find wherever they were keeping George and get him out too. And then… and then… maybe George would have some idea of what to do.

Sapnap took a deep breath, looking at Tommy warily because he would expect Sapnap to keep his eyes on him if he was close to giving up. He braced himself and dashed for the discarded water bottle, thankfully made of metal, and threw it with as much force as he could muster at Tommy’s head. It was a direct hit, but he wasted no time celebrating and dashed up the stairs. 

He heard a grunt of pain and the exasperated sigh that followed, and the next thing he knew Tommy had lifted him off his feet and slammed him down to the floor. 

He’d had the good sense to lift his head forward as far as he could to lessen the impact. He’d almost put his hands back to further cushion the blow, but he’d been afraid of breaking one or both of them. 

“Tommy,” Sapnap groaned. His back would be aching for a while. He had probably just put himself out of commission for at least another day or two. “Why are you doing this? Why are you with Dream? What did he do to you?”

Tommy stared down at him with his single visible eye, a trickle of blood running down his face from where the sharp rim of the bottle had hit him. He looked like the scared child that he was, but at the same time he almost looked menacing. He picked up the water bottle, set it down beside Sapnap well within his reach, and started up back the stairs.

“If he asks about the blood, I’ll have to tell him that we fought,” he said in that same reluctant quiet tone Sapnap had heard him use earlier. “I was trying to avoid that, for your sake.” The door swung open and shut just as quickly, and Sapnap heard the lock click.

He tried very hard not to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, this fight is based off all the fights i've had with my little brother over the years, minus the debilitating injuries. i'm the one in sapnap's perspective, because i used to be able to kick my brother's ass with no real problem, but now he's got five inches and thirty pounds on me. don't worry, it's play fighting, we don't hate each other


	4. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally there was gonna be a short chapter before this one that was just straight lore, but it sucked so i deleted it. i did zero research for the sciencey bits of this story and you'll be able to tell once they arrive. (I meant to, but I ended up twelve tabs deep in a wikipedia rabbit hole about rare psychological delusions and gave up.)
> 
> shoving world building stuff into a story and making it seem natural is hard. i was world building on some dnd site for a writing project i was doing last spring and having a great time, but when it came time to start writing all that lore was useless. so i'm thinking of taking the coward's way out and just tossing some essential information into the chapter notes. is that cheating?

When Dream was 13 and George was 14, they decided it was probably past time to stop sleeping in the same bed when they slept over. It was a mutual decision, but George had secretly been upset by it. There was something so safe about knowing that his best friend in the whole world was right next to him, that he wasn't alone. He suspected Dream felt the same way, at least at the time. But they were going to have to grow up at some point, right?

Once the world got destroyed, they both seemed to realize how silly that was. There was nothing immature about simple human connection. Many nights over the past two years Dream would crawl into bed with George, usually when he was already half asleep, and it was fine. It was good, even. It was something approaching happiness.

And it wasn’t anything- they didn’t  _ do _ anything. Dream certainly wasn’t interested in doing anything but sleeping. He’d always been cautious about exposing himself to anyone, even his closest friends. The mask was a recent addition, but when they were in middle and high school, he'd worn hoodies and hats whenever he could and grown out his hair to cover his face. He’d always been the one to go to the bathroom to change in the gym locker rooms, and he'd never gone swimming without a shirt on. George never expected that to change.

But there was something there that certainly hadn’t been there when they were kids. There was something about how Sapnap was decidedly not invited. Not that Dream had waited for an invitation the first time- he’d simply entered without knocking after a particularly bad day and flopped on the bed, and then he’d done it again, and again, and again. Sapnap never asked about it, but he had sent George several knowing smiles after watching Dream enter or leave his room with no discretion. 

Sapnap was better at that anyway. He always seemed to know exactly what he wanted, and he went and got it. George was sure that Sapnap and Karl- or Sapnap and Quackity now, apparently, George had no idea what was going on there- were nothing like him and Dream, because they were, as Sapnap frequently reminded them, idiots.

And then it had all fallen apart. Dream came less and less often, they argued, Sapnap argued with Dream, Sapnap came to George more than once to talk about Dream in private, they were scared, they were angry, they were tired. Dream was getting more agitated and less predictable. He refused to be disagreed with, he refused their input. Tensions were rising to the point that George couldn’t stand to look his best friend in the eye anymore. The night that Dream worked himself into a fit of rage and threw a plate at Sapnap (and missed, thankfully), George decided they were going to have to leave for good. 

After that he always slept in his own bed, and he was always cold.

Dream brought him upstairs and through the first door on the right. George tried to take a mental picture of the hallway so he’d be able to search the house for Sapnap quickly. Inside was an old-fashioned farmhouse bedroom. A soft green handmade quilt was spread across the four-poster bed, a large wardrobe and a shelf of dusty books stood against the wall to the left, and the two windows on the opposite wall were partially boarded up from the outside, enough to let through a decent amount of light. It was an adorable cottagecore dream, and it was an eerie glimpse into the past, as dead as whoever had lived here before.

“I can’t trust you not to run away yet,” Dream said. “So I’ll have to lock the door. I hope you’ll understand. This is only temporary, if you’re good.”

His words sent a shiver of disgust through George. “What about Sapnap?” he asked. “What are you doing with him?”

“I’m not going to let you be together,” Dream said. “Not yet, anyway. He’ll be in his own room.” He left and locked the door behind him. He must have refitted the locks himself, because there was no way this unassuming farmhouse had its locks on the outside of the bedroom doors to begin with. An image popped in his mind of Dream with a screwdriver, hunched over the instructions of a doorknob he’d taken from some long-abandoned hardware store, struggling to piece it together. It was almost humorous.

There were so many more questions George had, about Tommy, about Sapnap, about what Dream was planning, what his end goal was. He certainly wasn’t holding them hostage hoping to get something out of it- otherwise he would have just taken Sapnap. Sapnap had made friends. Karl would be distraught, and Quackity would see to it that some kind of negotiation would take place. But nobody would be all that bothered about George. As far as they were concerned, he was still Dream’s bitch. That’s what they all thought about him, even though they pretended to be friendly to his face. 

So what  _ was  _ Dream doing? Had he finally lost it? Probably, but he was still Dream, and he was still always going to be up to something. He had to have an end goal. Even though the only thing he’d accomplish by locking George up in a room alone for an extended period of time would be making him go crazy.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

George slumped against the wall as the realization hit him. He and Sapnap had left Dream, and now Dream wanted them back. So he’d decided to kidnap them and force them to be his friends again, and he thought it would work because he’d pulled it off with Tommy somehow.

Well, George wasn’t going to let that happen to himself. He wasn’t a traumatized sixteen-year-old whose brother had just died. He hadn’t been abandoned in a zombie-filled wasteland for two months. The only bad thing that had ever happened to him besides the end of civilization was Dream. Did Dream think he’d just forget?

Fuck that noise. George was better than that. He was going to find some way to get him and Sapnap out of here, even if he didn’t know how yet.


	5. Karl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> karl can't find his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck it, karlnapity

Karl was fairly certain he’d fallen asleep next to Sapnap, but when he rolled over to give him a hug, Quackity was there instead, complaining about how  _ there’s no reason to be up this early Karl what the hell. _

“Oh,” Karl said. “Q! I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah, I think you were already asleep when I got here last night- hey, where’s Sapnap?” Quackity propped himself on one elbow, rubbing his eyes, clearly only half-awake. “He better be making us breakfast or some shit.”

Which reminded Karl fondly of when Sapnap had made him pancakes once, fairly early on, back when they could still make decent meals with the food supplies they had. Nowadays breakfast was usually something foul-tasting from a can. “I was about to ask you the same thing. Maybe he went back home?”

“Weird,” Quackity shrugged. “I’m going back to sleep. Don’t wake me up.”

Karl got out of bed and checked the rest of the house for Sapnap, but there was no sign of him. It wasn’t like Sapnap to just disappear with no explanation. 

His hand moved to flip on the lightswitch, but he stopped himself. They were all supposed to conserve what little power they had in town. It was thanks to Dream and Sam’s hard work that they had power in the first place, so Karl was happy to comply. If he hadn’t found this settlement, he wouldn’t have any electricity to use at all. He probably wouldn’t be  _ alive  _ at all.

He threw on his sweatshirt and shoes and headed for Sapnap and George’s new house. They’d moved into a new place last month after some big argument with Dream that Karl thankfully hadn’t been involved in. It was just down the block, which meant Sapnap was over a lot more often, and Karl had no problems with that. Sapnap seemed much happier away from Dream, so everything was basically perfect.

The walk was only a few minutes. Karl knocked on the door, but there was no answer. It was unlocked, which was odd considering that the sun was barely up. “George? Sap? Are you guys home?” he called as he entered. 

No one answered, so he did a cursory check of the house. No one was there at all. He lingered a few uncertain minutes longer before making the short walk back home, where Quackity greeted him at the door.

“Thought you were sleeping,” Karl said.   
  
“You woke me up, fuckface. Couldn’t get back to sleep.”   
  
“Sapnap isn’t over there. Neither is George,” Karl told him. “I know it’s probably stupid to be worried this soon, but…”

Quackity’s face softened. “Hey, I’m sure he’s fine, babe.”

Karl broke into a grin. Being called  _ babe _ by Q was a fairly new development, one that got him all giddy and excited. Well, Sapnap still got him giddy and excited too. He was just an excitable person. He never expected the problem of Sapnap and Quackity to work out as well as it had. He’d been certain that both of them would balk at the suggestion. And look at them now! They were all so much happier together.

Well, except Sapnap had disappeared.

“I’m just worried,” Karl said. “I know Sap would never get beat by a zombie, so I’m sure he’s alright, but… I mean, after everything…”

“Hey,” Quackity said. “Relax. He wouldn’t mean to leave you worrying. He’s probably just… well, I dunno, but I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe he’s on his way back right now.”

But after a few hours, Karl was getting more and more anxious. “He’s not coming back,” he said. “He’s gotta be somewhere else.”

“We’ll ask around,” Quackity said. “I should check in with Tubbo and Fundy anyway, and it won’t hurt to see everyone else.” 

It was still weird to Karl that Tubbo was considered a leader now, and not just that, but  _ his  _ leader, technically. He was five years younger than Karl and still the size of an eighth grader. But it wasn’t like Tubbo ever asked anything of him. Karl was pretty much free to do whatever he wanted. So he went along with it. 

But actually, if he thought about it, his boyfriend was the oldest in Tubbo’s little inner circle, and Q was only twenty. There was Fundy, who Wilbur had insisted was his son, even though Wilbur would have been like eight when he was born. Fundy was even younger than Tubbo, if Karl remembered right. Then there was Ranboo, who apparently couldn't even remember how old he was. He looked older, mostly because he was freakishly tall, but was probably only like eighteen from the way he acted.

It seemed like everyone around this place was a kid. Karl felt a million years old sometimes.

They found Tubbo and Ranboo outside their house. They’d been living together since Tommy was exiled, and Karl couldn’t blame Tubbo for seeking out a new roommate. It was why he’d come this far east in the first place, to get away from the empty town where all his friends had died. He was so lucky he’d found everyone here. Loneliness in the apocalypse was as much of a death sentence as a zombie bite.

“Hey, Big Q,” Tubbo greeted them. “Hey, Karl.”

“Tubbo, Ranboo,” Quackity said. “Have you guys seen Sapnap?”

Ranboo shrugged helplessly and began flipping through the notebook he was holding. Karl felt bad for him. He didn’t know the specifics, but he knew that Ranboo had major memory issues. No one seemed to know why, least of all Ranboo, but it had to suck living like that. Or maybe he was just used to it by now.  “I saw him and George yesterday,” Tubbo volunteered. “Not at all today, though.”

“He was gone this morning,” Karl said. “We’re looking for him. George was gone too.” He fidgeted with his fingers inside the pocket of his hoodie, glancing over to Quackity.

“I can help you guys look,” Tubbo said. “Me and Rambo haven’t been doing much of anything today anyway. I don’t really know Sapnap too good- who else is he friends with besides you guys and George?”

“He used to hang out with Punz a lot,” Karl said. “I don’t think he’s gone to see him since he and George left Dream. Cause Punz is still technically with Dream. I guess. I’ll be honest, I have no idea what’s going on with them.”

“I don’t think any of us ever know what Dream’s got going on,” Tubbo said. “D’you guys wanna check with Punz, then? Rambo and I can check around.”

“Sounds good,” Q said. “Thanks for your help.” He put his arm loosely around Karl’s waist. Karl hadn’t realized it, but he’d been swaying on his feet. “You know how to get to Punz’s place from here, Karl? I don’t think I’ve seen where he lives.”

“Yeah,” Karl said, drawing in a shaky breath. “It’s not that far from Dream’s.”

“Are you good?” Quackity asked him once Tubbo and Ranboo were out of earshot, taking his hand and squeezing it. “You seem really tense.”

“Yeah, I’m just worried,” Karl said. “I really don’t know where he would have gone, he’s never just disappeared like this before.” His eyes stung with the promise of tears, and he turned away from the direction the wind was blowing. “I can’t help but wonder if Dream had something to do with it.”

“You mean if he went back to Dream?” Quackity said. “I wouldn’t think so. He wouldn’t just do that, right?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Karl said. “Like, if Dream’s mad at them, what if he… no, that’s probably stupid.”

“Dream’s a complete enigma to me,” Q said, shaking his head. “No one but George and Sapnap knows anything about how he thinks, and they’re not here to offer any insight. Well, Wilbur seemed to have some idea.”    
  
Karl winced at the mention of Wilbur. That day was still fresh in his mind, even though he would have loved to forget it.

“Hey, look, there’s Punz,” Quackity said. Punz was walking down the opposite side of the street from them, and Quackity waved him over. “How chill is he right now? Do you know?”

“I have no idea,” Karl said.   
  
“What’s up?” Punz asked them as he approached. “You guys look upset, did something happen?”

Karl hesitated, trying to think. The sides were all so confusing now. But Punz didn’t seem to be upset with them, so it was probably fine.

“We’re looking for Sapnap,” Quackity told him. “We were thinking he might have come to see you.”

Punz frowned. “No, I haven’t seen him in a couple weeks,” he said. “I was wondering if he was mad at me. I was actually gonna pop by his and George’s new place sometime today or tomorrow, let them know just because Dream is upset with them doesn’t mean I am.”

“What about Dream?” Karl asked. 

“Haven’t seen Dream in a hot second either, honestly. But that’s not that unusual for him. Why, do you think Sapnap and Dream are talking to each other again?”

“Punz, how close are you to Dream, anyway?” Quackity asked, his voice going slightly harsh. Karl didn’t like when Quackity switched over to that tone. It was never a good sign.

“Hey, man, I barely know him,” Punz said, opening his palms in a peacemaking gesture. “He’s always super cold with me. I just go along with it, y’know?”

“Do you know where he would be right now?”

“Dunno. Probably in his house, is my best guess. We can go there, if you want, check for Sapnap. You ask George about this yet?”

“He’s gone too,” Karl said.

“Huh.” Punz didn’t say anything else, but his eyes darkened. “Well, come on, I guess. I’m sure if Dream’s there, he’ll at least be willing to help you guys out. They’re his oldest friends, he’ll set aside whatever argument they’re having if they’re in any danger.”

Dream had been so strange lately. It was becoming uncomfortable for Karl to even think about him too often. But he still remembered how Dream would work to solve anyone’s problem, how benevolent he used to be. Everything with Wilbur and Schlatt got him so caught up in winning that he had withdrawn from everyone. 

He would never consider going to Dream for help anymore, but there was a time when he did without a second thought. There was a time when he didn’t have to consider who was on whose side and whether or not they could be friends.

Karl just wanted everything to go back to  _ normal. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes fundy is 15 in this story. why? i didn't have anything else i wanted to do with his character and i thought it'd be funny. little baby man  
> so to clear things up age-wise, we've got  
> fundy- 15  
> tommy- 16  
> tubbo-17  
> ranboo- 17? 18? ????  
> quackity-20  
> dream and sapnap-21  
> george and karl-22  
> wilbur and techno-23 (yeah they're twins what about it)  
> philza minecraft- old af lmao


	6. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george hates him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first part of this is a flashback, back when they're still happy.

It wasn’t a question which college Dream and Sapnap were going to. The same one as George, of course. 

Sapnap had gotten his acceptance letter two weeks prior, and they were all ecstatic, but once Dream got his as well, they could really celebrate. It was going to be perfect. They were jumping up and down in Dream’s living room while his mom took photos that she promised not to post on the internet. George had taken hold of Dream’s hands at some point, and his ears were ringing from the excited yelling filling the room, his and everyone else’s.

“Two of you still have to finish high school first, idiots,” Drista pointed out from the couch. “And I don’t think Dream’s gonna make it.”

“Shut up,” Dream said, but there was no malice in it. He was as happy as George had ever seen him. “I don’t care about high school. I’m going to college!”

“Hell yeah!” Sapnap agreed, tackling the two of them in a hug. They all three staggered over and fell to the floor, where George ended up with an elbow in his face. 

“Sapnap, get off!” he complained.

Sapnap threw most of his weight on top of George, so he pretended to be dying. He exaggerated a cough and made choking noises. Drista seemed to find the idea of George’s demise hilarious.

Dream still held on tightly to one of his hands.

“Alright, that’s it,” George said, shoving Sapnap to the floor and pulling away from Dream. “I’m going to kill you both.”

“What did I do?” Dream protested.

George didn’t answer, but lunged for him. Dream let out a surprised yelp, throwing up his hands in self-defense. Sapnap was there only a moment later, landing on top of both of them.

Finally, Dream seemed to realize that he was much bigger than either of them. He tossed George and Sapnap aside easily and got back to his feet. “You fuckers are in for it now,” he hissed.

“Moooom, did you hear that?” Drista shouted. “He said fuck!”

“You literally just said it too,” Dream pointed out. He grabbed ahold of Sapnap’s hair with one hand and started pulling. Sapnap let out a shrill screech before clapping his hand over his mouth, embarrassed. George couldn’t help but giggle.

He was still giggling when he felt Dream’s other hand in his hair. He braced himself, waiting for Dream to yank painfully on his hair like he’d done to Sapnap. It didn’t happen.

It was relaxing, actually. In high school, George had dated a guy for a couple of months that had frequently played with his hair. George had never had long hair, so it wasn’t often that anyone would touch it. It was a surprisingly nice feeling. Admittedly, he was probably way too touch starved. He caught himself leaning into it, letting Dream pull him in. 

“Gotcha,” Dream said with a wheeze once George was very nearly pressed against his chest, and  _ yanked.  _ George let out an equally embarrassing scream and pushed Dream away.

“What is your problem?” he shouted, but he couldn’t be mad. 

“Okay, okay,” Dream said, still wheezing, trying to catch his breath. “That’s enough. I’m done. We’re done.”

Sapnap got up and shoved him into the couch where George had just sat down. “ _ Now _ we’re done.”

“Now we’re done,” Dream agreed. George couldn’t help but notice that Dream had landed  _ very  _ close to him, and hadn’t bothered moving away. He didn’t move away either. “Okay, but seriously. This is insane.”

“It is,” Sapnap agreed. “We’re all going to school together again. We’re gonna live it up in college.”

“It’s kinda weird how you two keep following me everywhere,” George said, rolling his eyes. 

“It’s kinda weird how you think you can get away from us that easily,” Sapnap returned.

“Yeah, nice try, idiot,” Dream chimed in. “You’re not gonna leave me behind.”

George didn’t miss that he said  _ me,  _ not  _ us. _ He was probably reading too much into it. “I just can’t seem to get away from you.”

“Yeah,” Dream agreed. “You’re stuck with me.”

There was a knock at the door. George hadn’t been doing anything, but he scrambled to his feet at the sound anyway. He heard the lock click, and a moment after, Dream entered holding a water bottle and some food. He set them on the desk in the corner. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft and even, “how are you holding up?”

George was almost shaking with anger. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Dream frowned. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Are you shitting me right now? Are you going to pretend like you didn’t just- like you haven’t been-” He could feel his face turning red. “Fuck you.  _ Fuck you _ . Get the hell out of my face.”

“Oh, come on, now,” Dream said, which pissed George off even more. He had the audacity to come in here and talk to him so normally? What the fuck was he on?

He crossed his arms and walked to the opposite side of the room, looking out the window through the gaps in the boards, trying to calm himself down enough to think rationally about what to do next. 

“Listen,” Dream said. “I had to do this. Neither of you were listening to me. You left me. You didn’t think about how I felt about that? You left me  _ alone. _ ”

“I did think about how you felt,” George said. “Almost every goddamn day, actually.” He refused to look back in Dream’s direction. “I would have heard you out, if you really wanted to fix things. I would have let you try to reestablish trust. But now? That is  _ never  _ happening.”

“You don’t mean that.” Out of the corner of his eye, George saw Dream coming closer. 

“I do mean it. You have no idea, do you? Can you even tell that what you’re doing is wrong anymore? What happened to you?”

“What happened to me? You were there for it. You watched it happen. Wilbur happened. Schlatt happened. I worked so hard to make all this happen and Wilbur tried to kill everyone. It’s been nonstop for almost a year now. I relied on you guys to be my support system, to help me through everything- I loved you, I trusted you, and you  _ left me _ .”

George gritted his teeth. He was not going to feel sorry for Dream. He was not going to feel sorry for Dream. He was not-

“It’s not going to work on me,” he shouted. “I don’t care what you have to say. You can let us go, both of us, right now, and take us back, and maybe then- I don’t know. But this? You have me locked in a room, you had Tommy beat up Sapnap for no fucking reason- don’t think I’ve forgotten about Tommy, by the way, that’s the most damning piece of all of this. Tommy hates you. Or at least, he used to. I don’t know what you did, and I don’t need to know, I-” He gave up, clenching his hands into fists and throwing himself onto the bed, trying to resist the urge to swing at Dream. He knew that Dream was insanely strong, strong enough to kill him.

“George,” Dream said, his voice softening. “George, come on. Please. I’m sorry. You’re right, I’ve been fucking things up. I feel like I’m going crazy without you.” George felt gentle hands combing through his hair. “I  _ need _ you.” 

His muscles relaxed instinctively at Dream’s touch, before tensing back up again. He couldn’t let himself fall for it. “Get the hell off of me,” he growled. “Get the fuck away from me. Just. Get. Out.”

“George-” The hands retreated.

“Get  _ out! _ ” he yelled.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stop.” Dream backed away. “I’ll leave you alone today. Try to eat something for me, alright? And think about what I said- I can’t have you leave me again.” 

George squeezed his eyes shut until he heard the lock click, and only after several minutes did he get back up and try to compose himself. He hated how much he’d enjoyed the feeling of Dream’s hands in his hair again. He hated how much of himself wanted to listen to Dream, to believe him, to hear him say that everything could go back to how it was.

It would never go back to how it used to be. Not after this. Dream was the one that had ruined everything.

He drank some water grudgingly, but left the food. His stomach complained, but George couldn’t imagine eating right now. His mind was still reeling. The room was spinning around him.

He grabbed on to one of the pillows and screamed into it as loud as he could, until he ran out of breath. He spent several seconds gasping, before he burst into tears. His whole body was shaking. He curled up into a ball on the bed and wrapped his arms around himself, not even trying to stifle the noise of his sobs. 

Dream didn’t come back.

He could still feel hands tangled in his hair.


	7. Tubbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tubbo and ranboo help with the search.

From an outside perspective, it looked like Tubbo was moving on. He was focused on improving things for what was left of the group Wilbur had once affectionately referred to as L’Manberg. He was making peace with other factions, forming new relationships, living life as well as any battle-weary teenager in a zombie-infested wasteland could.

In Tubbo’s head, he was never not thinking about Tommy. How could he think about anything else? How was he ever supposed to let go? Tommy was still out there (not dead, he couldn’t be dead), and the last thing he’d heard from Tubbo was Tubbo telling Dream to take him. It was the worst day of his life. 

Tubbo missed Wilbur, but not like this. He woke up in the morning and thought of Tommy, he heard his voice through the day, he stayed up late at night unwilling to face the nightmares he would have of Tommy dying alone and scared out in the middle of nowhere. 

But what else could he have done? Started the fighting back up all over again? Right after it had finally calmed down? 

Big Q and Fundy had been furious with him. Ranboo had been quietly stunned. He didn’t speak against him, but Tubbo knew what he must have thought about it. It wasn’t just that Tubbo had sold out his best friend for the safety of the group, it was that he had fed Tommy false hope beforehand, led him to believe that he would stand at his side against Dream and against the entire world.

It was cruel. It was evil. It was something Wilbur would have done- the version of Wilbur that had forgotten himself, that had reveled in other people’s pain. Tubbo regretted it every day. He should have stood up for himself and been honest from the start about his decision. He owed Tommy that, at least. 

Beside him, Ranboo was leafing through a notebook- one of many that he had in his backpack. From what Tubbo understood, he kept his whole life story in there, or something like that. “Whatcha looking for?” he asked. He realized Ranboo wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking, and kicked a large rock out of his path so he wouldn’t trip.

“Mentions of Sapnap,” Ranboo said, not looking up. 

“Mentions of- wait, Rambo, do you know who Sapnap is?” Tubbo asked in alarm.

“I know who he is,” Ranboo answered with a trace of irritation. “I just don’t know if there’s anything in here that might help us find him.”

“Well, what do you have on him?” Tubbo had been asking Ranboo about what was in the books for weeks, but Ranboo was incredibly cagey about them. He said his memories should be as private as anyone else’s, which was kind of a fair point, but that didn’t quell Tubbo’s interest. If Tubbo didn’t get to know what Ranboo had written down about him specifically, maybe he could at least get  _ something _ .

“Not a whole lot. I guess we don’t interact much.”

“What else do you have in there?” Tubbo asked. He wasn’t very good at discretion.

“Lots of things,” Ranboo said unhelpfully.

“Uh-huh. Right.” Tubbo went quiet when he realized that Ranboo’s thumb was positioned between the front cover and the first page, leaving a gap wide enough for Tubbo to get a decent view of the first page (if he stood on his tippy toes- Ranboo was  _ very  _ tall). Across the top was written MOST IMPORTANT STUFF. The list that followed was written in several different inks and pencil thicknesses, indicating it was composed over the course of multiple different days.

_ -you had a mom and a dad before. _

_ -your birthday is in march. or may. starts with m. _

_ -[scratched out] and tubbo are your friends.  _

_ -YOU CAN’T TRUST DREAM. _

_ -wilbur is dead. _

_ -tubbo exiled tommy. he is probably dead. _

“Hey!” Tubbo said. “He is not. Why would you write that?”

Ranboo jumped nearly a foot in the air and slammed the book shut. “Were you reading it?”

“I was reading most important stuff. Tommy isn’t dead, Rambo. He’s good at surviving on his own. He’s gonna get to come back soon, okay?”

“Uh, okay, Tubbo,” Ranboo said, still flustered. He opened the book again, holding it even closer to his face, his shoulders hunched. 

They met Fundy first, who was happy to join them in looking for Sapnap. Next to Tommy, Fundy had been hit the hardest by Wilbur’s death. He’d only been thirteen years old when he’d first arrived, completely alone, and Wilbur had taken him under his wing and declared himself Fundy’s father. Now he lived with Eret, who was trying to give him a sense of normalcy and teach him school things, which Fundy complained non-stop about. As someone who had never done well in school, Tubbo sympathized with his plight, but he knew Fundy needed someone patient and level-headed like Eret to bring him stability.

They passed by Niki and Puffy’s place. Both women confirmed that they hadn’t seen Sapnap for a while, and Niki gave them each a flower. Tubbo handed his over to Fundy, who set to picking all the petals off, and Ranboo thoughtfully stuck his into his backpack and made a note in his book.

Niki’s garden had expanded even further; she was taking down fences and claiming even more of the surrounding area. They all pitched in for planting and harvesting, but Niki was the one who put in most of the work. Without her, they all would have starved ten times over. Or been stuck eating nothing but Techno’s potatoes.

They stopped by Bad and Skeppy’s house next. Bad was the only one home, and he hadn’t seen Sapnap or George in ages, which he seemed pretty upset about. Tubbo remembered that Bad had been close friends with all three of them, Dream, George, and Sapnap, at one point, but they seemed to have drifted apart. 

Bad was leading his own little group now, with him, Ant, Sam, and Skeppy. They seemed mainly focused on potential independence from Dream and his resources, which was probably a good idea, but Tubbo didn’t have anyone nearly as up to the challenge on his side. Sam was a genius, Ant was a relentlessly hard worker, and Bad was becoming a leader and organizer on par with Dream, the difference being that he was endlessly kind, and that kindness seemed to come from a very genuine place.

Phil and Techno also had no information. At first Techno had insisted that they get off his lawn, but Phil had waved them inside and offered them tea, which Tubbo gladly accepted. Tea was one of the few things left to them that he could enjoy consuming, available thanks to its simplicity. He missed pizza so much, he could cry.

He was still wary of Technoblade, who seemed quite willing to kill him unprovoked, but Phil probably wouldn’t let that happen under his watch. Phil was a bit of an enigma to Tubbo. There was a reason no one else his age was around anymore. Tubbo knew that Phil survived the outbreak because his kids had all defended him fiercely, especially Techno, who was rumored to be even stronger than Dream, but Phil seemed like he had a few tricks up his sleeve too. Whatever his deal was, he wasn’t spilling, but he was kind to almost everyone and pitched in wherever he could, so Tubbo didn’t pry  _ too _ much.

They had just passed Jack Manifold, who was as uncooperative as ever, when Ranboo stopped cold in his tracks and said, “Tubbo. Be honest with me.”

“What’s wrong?” Tubbo asked. 

“Did you take a page out of this book?” 

“What? No, of course not. I would never. Why, did someone-”

Ranboo sighed. “There’s a page missing. Somebody ripped a page out of here. Somebody read this book. I don’t-”

“Maybe you ripped out a page and forgot?” Tubbo suggested.

“I didn’t. I know I didn’t. I would have written in that I’d done it so I wouldn’t worry,” Ranboo said, looking on the verge of tears. “Someone read my book, someone was messing with my stuff-”

“Hey, hey,” Tubbo said. “Are you doing okay? You’ve been really tense this whole day.”

“I’ve been upset since I got up this morning,” Ranboo said, “and I can’t even remember why!” He threw the book to the ground but quickly snatched it back up again and sat on the ground, curling in on himself. “I hate this so much!”

Fundy silently offered him his remaining flower, which was mostly intact. Ranboo took it and crushed it in his fist.

“You should have told me you were feeling down,” Tubbo said. “You can talk to me, you know. Look, I’ll even write it in here so you’ll remember it.” He took the book from Ranboo’s unprotesting hands and added to the first page,  _ you can always talk to Tubbo!  _ “I can try to help you figure out what happened, if you want.” He resisted the urge to turn the page, but he did examine the first page more thoroughly. There were strange symbols along the margins. “Hey, what do these weird shapes mean?”

“I don’t even know,” Ranboo moaned. Fundy had sat down beside him, leaning his head against him. “It’s some kind of code I left for myself. I think I’ve cracked it a few times, but I don’t remember what it says.”

Underneath where Tubbo’s thumb had been resting was a little smiley face on the corner of the page. “Aw, that’s cute,” he said, adding his own smiley face next to the words he’d written.

Ranboo straightened in alarm. “Oh, god,” he said. “That little face…”

“Is something wrong with it? What does it mean?” Tubbo handed the notebook back.

“I don’t know for sure,” Ranboo said, his face grim. “But it’s nothing good.” He scratched out the smiley face Tubbo had drawn, but left the words.

At that point, Karl and Quackity returned with Punz in tow. Tubbo stiffened at the sight of Punz, but he seemed to bear no ill will, and Quackity wouldn’t just bring him to L’Manberg’s area if there was trouble. “Are you guys okay?” Quackity asked. 

Tubbo opened his mouth, but Ranboo got there first. “We’re all good,” he said. “I was just tired, that’s all.” He stood up, immediately overshadowing everyone there. Tubbo stood too, frowning. 

“We went to Dream’s house,” Punz said. “It was totally deserted in there. It looked like he hadn’t been there for days. There was a lot of broken glass in the kitchen. And Karl saw some fucked up shit.”

“Yeah,” Karl said. “There was dried blood in the upstairs hallway, and in the bathroom there was blood all over the mirror. Someone had smeared it in the shape of a smiley face.”

Tubbo said nothing, but looked down at his shoes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a terrified Ranboo gripping his book desperately.

Whatever was going on, he wasn’t going to let Ranboo get involved. He would take care of this himself.


	8. Ranboo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he thinks he's forgotten something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to keep my writing style normal for most of the story, but I think the mental illness and the raven cycle fixation i had last year really jumped out in this chapter.  
> i think ranboo is a really fun character to write, and since i have memory problems myself (nothing as bad as this though lol) it's also super self-indulgent. i think i'm doomed to eventually break the streak of updating every day, but today is not that day! unfortunately since i wrote this last night and this morning it means the chapter is probably kinda shit. sorry

They knew. They knew everything. Ranboo didn’t even know what he’d done, but everyone else must have known, because they were all staring at him, they were all talking about him...

“We should search the other houses,” Quackity decided. “Ours and George’s and Sapnap’s. Karl, when you were over there, did you see anything?”

“Nothing like what we saw at Dream’s,” Karl said, “but I didn’t look very hard. I was just checking to see if they were home.”

“We have to figure out whose blood it was, is the thing,” Punz said. “I mean, I have my suspicions. But I’m not sure."

They weren’t talking about him at all, were they?

Then what did the smiley face inside his book mean?

Ranboo didn’t remember why he’d drawn it, what it was meant to remind him of, but he did remember drawing it. Just a flash. It had been nighttime, and he was outside- why was he outside after dark? Where had he been? Should he write this down?

He opened the book and wrote down a summary of the conversation he’d just had with Tubbo and everything they’d done. He had already lost his train of thought once he’d finished.

“-but I really don’t think the kids should come,” Punz was saying. “Not if we find something like what we saw at Dream’s.”

“We’re not kids!” Tubbo protested. “Well, maybe Fundy is.”

“I’m not a kid either,” Fundy said. “I’ve seen dead bodies before, you know.”

“Right,” Punz said. “I… cannot actually refute that.”

“You’re not in charge here anyway, Punz,” Quackity said, his voice a bit chilly. “Tubbo is. George and Sapnap’s house is a part of L’Manberg. You’ve got to answer to him.”

“Hey, I’m chill,” Punz said. “This isn’t about politics. I just wanna know what happened to my friends, that’s all. I don’t have any problems with L’Manberg.”

“I thought you were on Dream’s side,” Tubbo said. Ranboo skimmed his notebook for mentions of Punz, but found less about him than he had about Sapnap. In the list he’d made of the sides before Wilbur’s death, Punz was with Dream, but that list was worthless now. Everything had changed since then.

“I’m not  _ on his side, _ ” Punz said. “He helps me out and I help him. If he and Sapnap and George are missing, I wanna know why.”

“Hmm,” Tubbo said. “Dunno about you guys, but I believe him. What do you think, Rambo?”

“Don’t know,” Ranboo mumbled. There were way too many people around. He couldn’t think straight. Not that he could when he was alone, either, but it was easier.

He stopped listening to the conversation again. What had he been doing? He had been trying to remember something.

He flipped to the next empty page and wrote that in all capital letters.  _ YOU ARE TRYING TO REMEMBER SOMETHING.  _

He read the new note in Tubbo’s handwriting.  _ you can always talk to Tubbo!  _ If he could communicate to Tubbo that he was trying to remember something, maybe Tubbo would give him an out. He looked over at Tubbo, who smiled encouragingly at him. That was a good sign.

He underlined Tubbo’s note for good measure.

The group began heading towards George and Sapnap’s house, and Ranboo followed. Fundy clung to his arm. Fundy was even smaller than Tubbo and spoke even less than Ranboo, but he was very affectionate. Ranboo couldn’t ditch them all when Fundy had attached himself to him.

While Quackity, Karl, Punz, and Tubbo split off to search the house, Ranboo settled down on the sofa downstairs and flipped to the missing page. Maybe he could retrace his steps? 

He read the page that came right after the missing one- the one he’d written this morning. He’d described the strange fear and anxiety he’d felt when he woke up without knowing why. The page before seemed normal, with no hints as to what the missing page might have said.

Had he ripped it out himself and destroyed it? Had he intentionally forgotten what happened?

He flipped back to the smiley face at the beginning of the book and closed his eyes, trying to picture anything in his mind. He saw himself outside at night, in L’Manberg, looking at something- what was he looking at? What did he see?

He turned to the back of the book and began frantically scribbling, eyes still closed, trying to get anything down that might help. He had no idea what he was even drawing. (This was the main reason he didn’t let people see the notebooks- they’d think he was a crazy person.)

(Maybe he was.)

He opened his eyes and looked down at the page. It was another smiley face, this one with a circle around it, which connected to an awful drawing (he was no artist, eyes closed or not) of a person. It was difficult to discern what the drawing was supposed to be. Ranboo knew he wouldn't remember what it was next time he looked at it. He had to figure this out  _ now _ .

In a sudden burst of inspiration, he scribbled a caption down:  _ DREAM. _

That was it. He’d seen Dream.

“I did it!” he shouted. 

Beside him, Fundy perked up. He’d been laying across the rest of the couch with his head hanging over the armrest, messing with one of the little trinkets he was always carrying around, but now he scrambled to a sitting position. “What did you do?” he asked.

“I remembered something,” Ranboo said. “Something really important.”

“You did?” Karl asked. Ranboo hadn’t noticed him coming down the stairs. “Something to do with Sapnap?”

“No,” Ranboo said. “Something to do with Dream.”

They were all there now. He had everyone’s attention, all eyes on him. He wanted nothing more than to shrink into the couch and disappear. He felt something at his side and looked down to see Fundy slipping his hand into his, looking up at him encouragingly.

“You can always tell me and I’ll tell the rest of them,” Tubbo, suddenly at his other side, suggested helpfully.

Ranboo underlined  _ you can always talk to Tubbo!  _ a second time.

“Thank you,” he said. “But I think I got this.” He returned to the drawing he’d made and stared down at it, finding it easier to speak when avoiding eye contact. “I saw Dream last night.”

He was immediately bombarded with questions. “One at a time,” Tubbo said commandingly. “Let him talk first.”

“It was… really late at night,” Ranboo said. “I don’t know why I was out that late, but I think… I heard something outside? I can’t really remember, but when I was out there I saw Dream. He was by me and Tubbo’s house, wearing that mask he always wears, but he had drawn a big smiley face on it.”

“That’s fucking creepy,” Quackity said. “What was he doing?”

“We talked,” Ranboo said. “I think. He told me it didn't matter since I wouldn't even remember… he said to go ahead and write it down if I wanted, so I did. I noticed a page was ripped out just a little bit ago. I don’t know how he did it, but I think it was him.”

“I’m with Q,” Punz said. “That’s creepy. Horror movie shit. Dream must be, like, having a psychotic break or something.”

“You guys believe me?” Ranboo asked. 

“After what we saw at Dream’s, yeah,” Karl said. “I wonder if he’s planning something.”

“But what do George and Sapnap have to do with it?” Quackity asked. “They’re all three gone in the same night.”

They believed him. They weren’t mad at him. They didn’t suspect him of doing anything wrong.

“Maybe they went with him,” Tubbo suggested. “They are his oldest friends. I know they were fighting, but it was only for a short period of time. Or maybe they even staged a conflict to throw us off.”

“Not Sapnap,” Karl said. “He wouldn’t. He would have at least told me something was happening, he wouldn’t have lied to me like that.”

“Are you sure?” Tubbo asked him.

Karl seemed to shrink in on himself. “Well-” No one cut him off, but he stopped, stepping back behind Quackity and Punz.

“We need to be on the lookout for any of them,” Tubbo said, taking charge. “I’ll get the news around to everyone, make sure if anyone sees anything, they report it back. What’s most important is that everyone is safe.”

Ranboo noticed Quackity wrapping an arm around Karl, who looked like he might cry. “He wouldn’t do that,” he said very quietly, so Ranboo had to strain to hear it. “Right? He wouldn’t lie to me, right?”

Quackity stared at the ground miserably. “I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every time i mentioned fundy in this chapter i thought to myself, "this is so far out of character for fundy, wtf am i doing" and i just kept on doing it. i think we could all use a tiny supportive foxboy friend.  
> also i'm not doing traitor punz here, he is just chilling. he is still mainly motivated by getting paid, but he's not down to do any really fucked up shit on dream's behalf. he just wants to have a relatively luxurious apocalypse, is that too much to ask for?


	9. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he isn't hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for eating disorders- the note, this chapter, all of it. if you're sensitive to it skip this one for sure. it'll come up a few times later i'm sure. i'll always try to put a warning when it does, but this chapter is centered on it. a bit of dissociation too, i think?
> 
> that being said, this is not anorexia. i'm gonna come clean here, most of this is lifted from personal experience. i do not have an eating disorder, i promise. i just googled the main types of eating disorders and none of them apply here. still, the relationship george has with food in this story is not healthy, obviously. it's a pretty short chapter and it's probably alright to skip if you need to, plot-wise.
> 
> little time skip from the last chapter as well. i'm not going to write a week's worth of george lying in an empty room feeling like shit, that's boring, so we gotta jump ahead.

“Come on, George. You’ve got to get some food in your system,” Dream said. “It’s been almost three days since you’ve had something to eat.”

As if he didn’t know that. As if he wasn’t feeling it right now, even as the food in Dream’s hand made his stomach lurch. 

George was laying on the bed, curled up in the fetal position, his entire body aching. Dream sat beside him, holding a plate of something that probably tasted disgusting. Everything tasted disgusting. Whenever he closed his eyes, the bed beneath him vanished, so he didn’t keep them shut for long.

He’d been here a week. He’d eaten twice.

The end of the world was enough to give anyone problems with eating, especially someone who’d been struggling before it even started. Food was hard to come by in the beginning, so George and Sapnap would frequently fight zombies on empty stomachs. The food that eventually became available to them was a picky eater’s nightmare. George skipped meals for months until his friends found out and made sure he was eating at least two meals a day. Which meant he’d kind of lost his ability to starve.

There were three reasons George wasn’t eating Dream’s food- for one, he wanted to see what Dream would do about it. Two, he didn’t want to take anything from Dream that he didn’t have to.

And, three, well… he just wasn’t hungry.

Three days without food meant his stomach ached constantly and unignorably, but his appetite just wasn’t there. It came and went, it always had. When he was sixteen, George had had to swear up and down to his mom, his therapist, his school counselors that he wasn’t anorexic, he just wasn’t hungry. They didn’t care. He was still losing weight either way. So he learned to shut up and force as much food down as he could. It was easier that way. 

But there was no reason to eat food anymore. And the fact that he wasn’t, was really pissing Dream off. 

“Are you getting sick? Is that what this is?” Dream put a hand to George’s forehead. George slapped him away with as much strength as he could muster.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he said. “I’m not sick. You are, though.”

“No, I’m fine,” Dream said. “I’m worried about you.”

“Really? Were you worried about me when you kidnapped me?” George had a new plan. He’d come up with it over the last few very sleepless nights- he would guilt trip the shit out of Dream. “Maybe you’re the one doing this to me, Dream. Did you think of that yet?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dream said. “I would never hurt you.”

“Don’t you think I wish that were true?” George said.

He didn’t flinch in the slightest. George half wished Dream was wearing the mask right now, because knowing that he truly didn’t give a shit was much worse than being left in the dark.

“I know what you’re doing,” Dream said, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “I know you’re upset with me right now. That’s okay. I’ll wait as long as it takes for this to be over, because I care about you, George.”

George’s whole body stiffened. The hollow pit in his stomach seemed to expand with Dream’s closeness. “Dream-”

“I do need you to eat something, though,” Dream said, retreating slightly. “I can try to get you some better tasting food, at least. Maybe some soup, something that’s easier to get down. If you want something specific, just name it, anything remotely in the realm of possibility, I’ll get it.”

“Ice cream,” George said. He was lactose intolerant and Dream knew it. Not that it had stopped him in the past, but when it was the only thing in his system, it would wreak serious havoc.

“If I thought you meant it, I’d try to make it somehow,” Dream said. “I mean that. I just want you better and back on your feet.”

George didn’t answer, staring up at the ceiling. He was so fucking hungry. He couldn't eat a bite. Two incompatible truths, perfectly balanced together, teaming up to destroy him. Like he didn't have enough on his plate already.

“If not for me, do it for Sapnap,” Dream said. “I told him you’re having trouble again. He’s worried about you. He’s scared for you.”

_ Fuck.  _ George didn’t know if it was true, but it certainly sounded true. He didn't want Sapnap to deal with this on top of however else Dream was manipulating him. It wasn't fair to him. Maybe he could pretend to eat and get rid of the food? Or maybe-

“Maybe I’ll eat something if you let me see him,” he said.

Dream shrugged. “Maybe I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming up next: we see what life's been like for sapnap. i am so sorry in advance <3
> 
> comment ur thoughts i love to hear them


	10. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he's a little worse for the wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw implied physical abuse, and eating disorders (not really, but same as last chapter). lmk if i ever need to add or change a warning, i'm just winging it every time
> 
> this chapter is platonic. there is nothing gay about cuddling the homies, especially not when you've both been kidnapped. sapnap would never cheat on his boyfriends smh

“So if I eat this whole plate, you’ll let me see him,” George said.

“That’s right. I promise.” 

George stared down at the food: something that looked vaguely like bread, the canned green beans with bacon bits that Dream knew he was usually willing to eat, and two slices of ham. They had a big freezer of pork back in town from the pig farm project, when everyone had pitched in early on to learn how to butcher the surviving pigs and save the meat in the walk-in freezer of a fast food restaurant, which they diverted all power to until they could reliably generate enough power for everyone. The pork had been a godsend, even if they had to cook it over a fire in the beginning.

“Did you make the bread yourself?” he asked.

“I did. That’s why it’s shit. I’m not a baker,” Dream said.

George tried it. It was dry as hell, but it was bread, sort of, which was a small miracle in and of itself. There were certain essential ingredients to any kind of complicated food that just weren’t available anymore. But Dream had appeared to make do without them.

He could do this. He needed to see Sapnap.

He saved the green beans for last, taking it slow because he knew if he didn’t it would come back up. It felt like an hour had passed when he’d finished, and he wanted nothing more than to get back in bed and lie down for a few hours, but he stood up expectantly.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“I’m glad,” Dream said. “Really.” He held the door open for George to follow, and George stepped out of the room for the first time in a full week.

He followed Dream down the stairs, confused why Sapnap was downstairs and not in a different bedroom. Then Dream opened the door to the basement, and George felt sick.

“Tommy, stand at the door for me,” Dream said, and George turned to see Tommy behind him, his eyes as blank as the last time he’d seen him. Dream switched on the very dim basement light.

“George!” Sapnap yelled immediately. “Are you okay? Are you eating? Did he hurt you?”

Sapnap was covered in bruises and dried blood, looking more frail than George had ever seen him. His posture spoke of pain and exhaustion, and one of his arms was swollen and bent in a horribly wrong position. George almost lost the meal he’d eaten then and there. He managed to hold it back, but he couldn’t stop the tears.

“Oh, god,” he said. “Oh, god, Dream, how could you-”

Dream was gone.

George looked back up to Tommy, who was blocking his exit at the top of the stairs. He didn’t appear to have moved, but he must have, because Dream wasn’t in the room anymore. 

George realized he had begun to forget that he wasn’t supposed to give in to Dream. Well, he wouldn’t forget again. With renewed determination, he ran to hug Sapnap.

“Fuck, that hurts,” Sapnap said the moment George wrapped his arms around him. “No, don’t stop. Please. George, I am so fucking glad to see you, you have no idea.”

“I can’t believe you’re in the  _ basement, _ ” George said. “I can’t believe he would do this. I’m going to kill him. I hate him so fucking much. Sapnap, listen-” he gasped for breath as his eyes welled up again and lowered his voice- “I am going to fucking  _ kill  _ him.”

“No. No no no. Don’t do that, please, just-” With his good arm, Sapnap pressed George closer. “Just. Stay with me. Please. As long as he lets you.”

“Of course,” George said. “But why shouldn’t I?” He let himself lean into Sapnap, pressing the side of his face in his shirt, relaxing. Trying to relax, anyway. 

“That’s- look, he hasn’t hurt you, right?”   


“Sapnap, look at yourself. Why should you be worried about me?”

“Just answer the question, George.”

“Fine. No, he hasn’t. Not once.”

“Right. Good. Yeah.” Sapnap let out a relieved sigh. “Promise not to get mad at me.”

“I won’t be mad at you. I couldn’t be.”

“This is my fault,” Sapnap said. “No, wait, that’s not what I meant- I know what that sounds like. That’s not what I meant to say at all. It’s Dream’s fault. Obviously. But, I, uh, I made a deal with him.”

“About what?” George shifted slightly, and Sapnap let out an involuntary groan of pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” He froze in place and carefully moved back to the position he’d been in a moment ago. 

“So that he wouldn’t hurt you,” Sapnap said through gritted teeth. “I said he could do what he wanted to me as long as he didn’t touch you. And he agreed he wouldn’t.”

“No,” George said. “No, that’s not okay. Sapnap, please. I’m telling him the deal’s off. That’s not fair. I’m going to- I’m going to talk to him, get him to listen, beg him if I have to. I can’t just sit up there while you’re down here bleeding out.”

He could hear Sapnap’s miserable grin in his voice. “If I suck it up for a few more weeks, we won’t have to be separated from each other anymore. That’s what he told me. A few more weeks of this and I’ll have you, and it’ll be okay.”

“And you’re- okay with that?”

“Well. I’ve made peace with it. Not the same thing.”

“You don’t want to get back? You don’t want to get out of here? What about Karl and Quackity?”

“Of course I wanna get out of here,” Sapnap said. “But I’m thinking in the realm of reality here.”

He was probably right. Sapnap didn’t look like he could stand, let alone hatch an escape plan alongside George. But George couldn’t help but fear that he was giving up.

“Did you eat anything?” Sapnap said. “Dream said you haven’t been eating at all.”

“I just ate a whole meal so I could come see you,” George said. 

“That’s great. Please don’t stop eating again. I need to know you’re doing alright.”

“I’ll try,” George said. “For you.” He wanted so badly to hold Sapnap closer, but he was afraid he’d hurt him. Sapnap’s right arm still lay limp at an odd angle on the floor, but his left was wrapped around George, his hand close to his neck. “Can you- sorry if this is weird- can you touch my hair?”

“Awww, George,” Sapnap said. “Of course I can. It’s okay.” His fingers splayed out into George’s hair, combing it gently. George flinched at the touch initially even though he’d known it was coming, and Sapnap pulled away.

“No, I’m sorry… please don’t stop.”

“Okay,” Sapnap breathed. “I won’t.”

They sat like that for long enough that George really could relax, and did for the first time in days. He felt almost at peace. He hoped Sapnap did too. He could hear Sapnap breathing more and more slowly, his hand going still in George’s hair. George realized just how touch-starved he’d been before this.

He was surprised Dream had let them have this long. Surely it would come to an end soon.

“Alright, George, time to come back up,” Dream’s voice came from up the stairs only a few minutes later. George didn’t move, and neither did Sapnap. He didn’t want to leave. He knew it would mean Sapnap would be alone and defenseless down here until he could convince Dream to let him down here again, and he didn’t want to wait another full week.

But he didn’t want to give Dream a new reason to hurt Sapnap, either. He moved to get up, but Sapnap’s arm didn’t move, and George wasn’t willing to push against him.

“George. Come on,” Dream said, sounding a little more exasperated.

“Don’t go,” Sapnap whispered to him. George nodded.

“Alright, Tommy, go take care of it.”

“No no no no no! You said you wouldn’t hurt him!” Sapnap shouted, practically shoving George away. “You promised!”

“I’m not going to,” Tommy said, and George saw where he was looking. It wasn’t at him.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’m coming.” He got to his feet, but noticed Sapnap reaching for him and faltered just for a moment.

“George,” Sapnap said. “Please eat. Please take care of yourself.” George nodded, but all he heard was  _ please take care of Dream. _

He would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wonder what he means by "take care of dream?" idk but it's probably nothing bad don't worry. nothing bad would ever happen in this story


	11. Tommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he's thinking of wilbur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so goddamn proud of this chapter. i am in love with this chapter. my hubris will never allow me to hear a negative word about this chapter. i wrote it in thirty minutes and barely edited a thing and it is perfect and beautiful. thank you for coming to my fanfiction.

When Dream took Tommy on a long drive far away from town and told him never to come back, Tommy thought of Wilbur.

He and Wilbur had done this before. When Schlatt arrived in town, Wilbur had run away and taken Tommy with him. Apparently Wilbur used to know Schlatt before the apocalypse, and he was bad news. That was all Tommy had ever gotten from his brother. Techno and eventually Tubbo joined them, and within two months, Schlatt was “taken care of” and they could return safely. It was more of a vacation- an uncomfortable and occasionally miserable vacation, but one always filled with the comforting voices of his family, the people who cared about him. Tommy hadn’t feared for his life, because Wilbur was by his side, and Wilbur would never let him die.

That assumption turned out to be horribly wrong later down the line.

“I’ll come out to see you here sometimes,” Dream told him. “Make sure you’re not planning anything or starving to death or any of that bullshit. You can leave if you want, but you have to tell me first, and you can’t come any closer to town.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy said, but without any of his usual intensity. He was tired and miserable and sad, still in shock at Tubbo’s betrayal.

“I’ll see you soon,” Dream said, and sped off.

Tommy wanted nothing more than to lay down and welcome death with open arms.

He took after his brother that way.

When Dream began hitting him for not listening, Tommy thought of Wilbur. 

Wilbur wouldn’t have stood for Dream’s tyranny. He started the whole L’Manberg thing because he believed Dream couldn’t be allowed to control everything. That was how dictatorships started, Wilbur said- and he would know. He led one himself.

Tommy never minded that in plenty of people’s opinions, his brother was just as bad as Dream. He never cared that Wilbur had an awful temper and would slip into fits of irrationality. Wilbur had always been there for Tommy when no one else was. He protected Tommy from school bullies and from Techno when they were younger. He raised Tommy better than Phil ever had. 

He had an awful mean streak, but Wilbur never, ever hit Tommy. He would have killed Dream for even trying. 

Near the beginning, Tommy fought back. Eventually, he stopped trying. He wished he could let Wilbur know he was sorry. He just wasn’t good enough.

When Dream started training him, Tommy thought of Wilbur.

Wilbur had asked many unpleasant things of Tommy. He never seemed to know when he was going too far. Dream was different. He didn’t give a shit what Tommy thought was too far. He didn’t give a shit about Tommy at all. More and more, Tommy, too, was forgetting how to care.

When was the last time he cared? He clearly remembered all the times he talked Wilbur down, and one time he failed. He definitely cared then. He cared about his friends, about his family- well, Wilbur was his family. Techno and Phil were always less, always distant. They viewed Tommy as less than family too, and that was fine with him because he had Wilbur.

He remembered chasing after Wilbur, begging him to stop. He remembered hot tears pouring down his face. He remembered the groans of a thousand zombies all around them, and Wilbur grinning among them as everyone else fought desperately to survive.

Wilbur never planned to survive. Tommy didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before then.

Sparring with Dream for the tenth day in a row, he wished he’d gone down with his brother like Wilbur wanted. Wilbur had known that Tommy wasn’t brave enough to do it himself.

“You’re doing great,” Dream said once they’d finished for the day. “You’re almost strong enough to beat me.”

“Almost,” Tommy echoed. He spoke less and less nowadays, and that was fine with both of them. He didn’t have much to say anyway.

“You’re healing nicely, too. Except for that eye, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Tommy said. He was used to it by now. It was probably for the best that he had this weakness. Dream could always exploit it. If Tommy was ever able to overpower Dream, he didn’t know what he’d do.

It was easier to just do whatever Dream told him. It hurt less.

When Dream explained to Tommy the scheme to get more people on their side, Tommy thought of Wilbur.

Wilbur was not above manipulation. He’d manipulated Tubbo and probably Tommy too. Tommy still wasn’t sure. 

Wilbur was terribly charismatic. He was a musician, an artist, a poet, a dreamer of larger-than-life dreams. He often spoke to Tommy of his grand visions, and Tommy had been his loyal and captive audience. He guessed that Wilbur had seen his chance to be a part of the story with L'Manberg, to take hold of his own destiny, to protect the weak from the cruel world around them. Wilbur had a talent for spinning a story, and a tendency to paint himself as the hero.

“What do you think?” Dream asked.

What did Tommy think? That was a stupid question. It didn’t matter what Tommy was thinking. He didn’t care about Dream’s plan anyway, it didn’t change anything. Wilbur would still be dead.

“Will it work?” Dream said.

Of course he wasn’t asking Tommy if he agreed with it or not. “It might,” he said noncommittally. He wasn’t listening, he was thinking of Wilbur. He was always thinking of Wilbur.

When Dream told him to hit Sapnap on that first day, Tommy thought of Wilbur. 

When he watched Sapnap stop attempting to defend himself after a few days, Tommy thought of Wilbur.

When George called him an asshole on his way up the stairs, Tommy thought of Wilbur.

When he went to sleep, Wilbur was in his dreams.

“Let’s be the bad guys, Tommy.”

He didn’t want to be the bad guys. He wanted his brother back. 

But that was never going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've taken a bit of a different approach to protege tommy here, because the typical "dream is your best friend :)" story didn't work at all with how i write him. tommy has had to do a lot of growing up very, very fast. he doesn't hold any delusions about dream caring about him. he knows exactly what's going on and what he's doing. 
> 
> that doesn't mean he's any less of a traumatized child who's been abandoned by everyone who was supposed to take care of him. as much as canon tommy was influenced and shaped by wilbur, this tommy is even more so. during his exile, he was left with no one but dream and his memories of wilbur, who he wasn't given any time to mourn. 
> 
> any tommy apologists reading this? i think you're going to love it here.


	12. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all the reasons dream is evil, all the reasons dream is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing bad happens in this chapter. you can trust me, i would never lie to you.

Dream was always fiercely protective of his family. That had included Sapnap and George from a very young age, and after the apocalypse, it came to include everyone else in town. Dream’s protection hadn’t meant a whole lot when they were younger. He’d always been a scrawny nerd, and he didn’t get any stronger in high school, even though he’d started towering over George and Sapnap and almost everyone else. But after the zombies, it meant everything.

All of a sudden, Dream was  _ powerful.  _ George still didn’t pretend to understand what had happened, but he wasn’t complaining. He and Sapnap had been narrowly surviving the waves and waves of zombie attacks, both of them feeling pessimistic and at the end of their rope, when they reunited with Dream. George didn’t think he’d ever gotten over that initial shock of seeing him armed to the teeth, looking healthy, well fed, more alive than either of them had felt in two months. Parts of this Dream were unrecognizable, but George hardly minded. It wasn’t like Bio Major Dream, who worked at some weird research facility and frequently discussed topics that went over George’s head, was someone he missed. He missed the protective Dream, and here he was, bristling with rage that a bunch of mindless corpses would dare hurt his friends. Only now, it seemed he was very capable of doing something about it.

The new Dream was a force of good for months and months and months. Unlike the old Dream, he seemed quite willing to expand his circle of trust and friendship. Every survivor they came across was welcomed, regardless of how rude or contrary they were on first impression. George didn’t mind the new people- he supposed he should be glad that humanity had yet to be completely eradicated- but he still preferred to stick to Dream and Sapnap, disliking how complicated the very simple task of daily survival was becoming. 

When the group began to outgrow the wandering lifestyle it had adopted, Dream decided they ought to settle down in one place. They began to occupy a decent suburban area of the city that most of them had once lived in and everything at once felt much less apocalyptic. Things were looking up. For once, George saw a future where he didn’t die young. Dream began training everyone on how to fight zombies more effectively, and encouraged others to work for the good of the community. Niki started her garden, Sam tried his hand at electrical engineering, Wilbur brought up the idea of constructing barricades around town to prevent zombies from roaming their streets at night.

Progress was being made, but after the barricades were up, Wilbur seemed strangely unsatisfied with his project’s success. Dream didn’t trust him, so George didn’t either.

Wilbur was a problem. His whole family was a problem, but Wilbur was the most forthright, the most audacious, the most indiscreet of them all. He had good ideas and he was good at killing zombies, and he commanded attention and respect. He was also paranoid, delusional, obsessive, the full extent to which George wouldn’t find out until much later. He rallied most of the kids in town to his side, and who was going to go against a group of kids? What was George supposed to do about a teary-eyed fourteen year old pointing a knife at him? Or the shaking seventeen-year-old girl who last week had shyly delivered him a basket of carrots and tomatoes she’d grown herself, now positioning herself between him and Wilbur and staring him down? 

George always thought that Dream was so insistent on putting down Wilbur’s insurrection because he wanted those kids to be safe. He knew Dream considered them his family, and he had to protect them. But it became increasingly clear that Dream was willing to put those same children in harm’s way in order to take Wilbur down. George began to think that maybe Dream wasn’t much better than Wilbur.

He felt nothing but relief at Wilbur’s death. He hoped things might go back to normal. The reason for Dream’s agitation was gone, and he could go back to being a good man, a good leader, a good friend. But if anything, Dream only got worse. George finally had to come to terms with the fact that Wilbur was never to blame for Dream’s behavior. Wilbur was only ever responsible for his own actions. Dream had done this to himself. 

And George couldn’t stay by his side any longer.

Dream carried several weapons on his person at all times. This was standard practice for almost everyone during the apocalypse. For Dream, this meant two guns, a few smaller knives, and his longer machete knife, his favorite weapon, the blade that had cut off a thousand zombie heads. George had not seen the machete since the first day he’d come here. It was a bit of a bulky weapon to be carrying around the house, he supposed. But he had spotted the glint of the smaller knives inside Dream’s jacket.

George could be clever, he could be fast, he could be strong, even if he wasn’t always the smartest, fastest, or strongest. But he was rarely brave. He did what he had to do to survive, and little more.

That would have to change.

For two days he did nothing but scream at Dream for even entering the room, which was hardly acting on his part, but on the third day he curled up in a ball in the corner and waited until he heard Dream’s footsteps approaching. He quickly whipped up some tears, which he was only able to do because he was always on the verge of tears now anyway. He sniffed loudly the moment he heard the doorknob turn and started crying.

“George?” Dream asked. “Are you okay?”

“No I’m not fucking okay,” George mumbled through tears, but didn’t put nearly as much spite into it as he normally did. “Dream, I- I just don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “I thought you  _ loved  _ me.”

He had to stop a grin from creeping up his face as Dream settled himself down beside him and gently took one of George’s trembling hands in his. Dream rubbed his thumb in a circular motion across George’s palm, and George let himself relax, just slightly. It was constantly chilly inside the house, which was old and drafty, and George had to admit that he didn’t mind Dream’s body heat beside him.

“George, I do love you,” Dream said, and it almost sounded like the truth. 

“No, you don’t. You’re just saying that, you’re just lying to me- I know you are.”

“I’m not. I swear. George, I care about you so, so much. You have no idea. I can try to help you understand what’s been going on, if you’ll listen. I know you don’t want to listen to me, but-”

“I will,” George said. “I’ll hear what you have to say. But I won’t promise I’ll like it.”

“You don’t have to promise me anything.” Dream scooted closer to George so their shoulders were touching. “Just hear me out.”

“I’m listening.”

“I think I was losing my mind without you,” he said. “It felt like I was dying. Alone in that stupid house, all I could think about was how you left me and how you hated me. You kept me sane for so long. I needed you to keep me grounded and stable. I needed you to keep me in check. You were always my moral compass, George. You know I can’t tell when I’ve crossed a line, not on my own. I just wanted everything and everyone to be safe, that was all I’ve ever wanted, but without you, I was losing sight of it all.”

“You were,” George said. “But you have to understand, I had to protect myself and Sapnap.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I just needed you back. You make it go away.” Dream reached out for George, and George uncurled and wrapped his arms around Dream, sliding them under his jacket, leaning into him. It was warm and comfortable and not the least bit safe. It was the sweetest poison he’d ever tasted.

He shivered there, feeling warmer than he’d been in the past few days, feeling colder than he’d ever been in his life.

“I’m just afraid you won’t go back to normal,” he whispered, his face against Dream’s chest, his fingers brushing the inside of his jacket, searching carefully. “I’m just afraid it’ll be bad like it was.”

“I promise,” Dream said. “I’m going to make all of this better. You don’t have to trust me yet, that’s okay. But I promise all of this is going to feel like just a bad dream soon enough.”

“But Dream,” George said, making his voice sound very small and childlike, “you’re hurting me.”

“No,” Dream insisted. “No, I would never hurt you.”

“You are.” His fingers found the handle of the knife. He undid the strap that held it in place and pulled it out. He rose to his feet.

“George-”

George stabbed him. He aimed for the heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lied.
> 
> cliffhanger pog?


	13. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we'll only be here for a moment. it's a dangerous place.

_ Did you think that wasn’t exactly what I wanted? _

_ The blood. It’s in my head. You’re in my head. You and the blood are the only things in my dreams. I get them confused sometimes. Did you think you were playing a clever trick? Did you think you were defying me? _

_ I don’t feel it much, anyway. I don’t feel much of anything anymore. It’s been a while. I do feel you, though, even when you’re not around, and I feel the blood writhing inside of me, crawling around in my veins, desperate to escape. _

_ I wasn’t lying when I said that you grounded me, but I was lying when I said I wanted it back. I don’t want you to bring me down to earth like you used to. I want you like this.  _

Dream didn’t say any of that to George, but someday he would tell him all of it and more.

  
  



	14. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they have a nice chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for even more violence and blood and also hallucinations. george pulls a dsmp ranboo in this one
> 
> i'm glad i had most of this chapter sitting around beforehand because i spent all last night reading hurt/comfort found family sbi stuff instead of writing because i am mentally ill. idk if i like the direction that this chapter sends the story in, but the chapter itself kinda fucks so i'm publishing it. i can probably get it to circle back to where i want it to go so it's fine

George couldn’t help but stare for a moment, dumbfounded at what he’d done. It didn’t feel real.

Dream lifted George like he weighed nothing and flung him away. George hit the floor, hard, but got back to his feet the second he could manage it. His eyes returned to the knife handle protruding from Dream’s chest- it was too low. He must have missed. His only chance now was to jolt the blade upwards. Getting ahold of the second knife was too much of a long shot.

But Dream was impossibly strong and fast. How was he supposed to get anywhere near him?

George had an idea- it would only work if Dream was really dedicated to not hurting him, and since he already had, it was looking unlikely. He dove across the bed and dashed around Dream to the door, desperately pulling on the locked doorknob. “Please,” he begged, fresh tears streaming down his face- a nice touch, if not an intentional one. “Please don’t kill me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“George,” Dream said, struggling to keep his tone even. “I’m not going to kill you.”   


“I didn’t mean to!” George shrieked, letting his voice sound as hysterical and miserable as possible. “I don’t know what happened- my hand just-”

“George, come here.” Dream didn’t seem to care that his knife wound was practically spurting blood. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry for doing that to you- it was a split second reaction.”

He couldn’t be fucking serious. George had seen what Dream did to Sapnap. He slumped against the wall and let out a miserable sob, and Dream, making no attempt to stop the bleeding, wiped a blood-soaked hand on his pants and moved, incredibly, to comfort him.

George leaned in and jammed the knife in further, pushing down on the handle so the blade would shift upwards. Dream fell to his knees, staring at him in shock.

“George- why-”

But George couldn’t answer him. This time his heaving sobs were very real.

He watched Dream’s blood pool out onto the soft blue carpet, tasting blood, tasting salt. He knew he should get the hell out of here as fast as possible, but his vision was blurring and he couldn’t move. There was so much blood, more than he thought was possible for a person to hold, and he couldn’t move. The tips of his socks were dyed red, his hand was dripping in it, the tears running down his face were thick and red, he was drowning.

He couldn’t move he couldn’t move he couldn’t move he couldn’t-

“Huh,” a voice from behind him said. Tommy had opened the door and was standing over them both, his facial expression revealing, as usual, absolutely nothing. 

“Just fucking kill me already,” George said, sitting in undeniable guilt and a pool of blood, still frozen in place.

“Nah,” Tommy said, “but I’ll do this.” He took George’s head in his hands and slammed it into the wall with full force. 

He woke up with a headache.

George sat up in bed. His head felt like it was about to split open, but other than that, he was undeniably alive. Tommy was using a carpet cleaner on the spot where Dream’s body had been lying. He looked up at George for a second, then ignored him and kept going.

It was ridiculous that George was just sitting there watching him clean the carpet. Why the hell was he cleaning the carpet? Why was that his priority?

“It doesn’t come off as easily if you don’t do it right away,” Tommy answered, leaving George to wonder whether he’d spoken out loud without realizing. He had no idea.

“Is Dream dead?” he asked.

“Nope. But he’s mad. At both of us.”

“What’s he mad at you for? Saving his life?”

“He wouldn’t have died,” Tommy said dismissively. “He’ll be fine in a couple days.”

“That’s bullshit. I know where I stabbed him.”

“Okay,” Tommy said, and continued to clean the carpet.

George was very tempted to punch Tommy, but he would have had to get up first, and with the way his head was hurting, that wasn’t going to be a possibility. 

He had actually tried to  _ kill Dream.  _ What the hell happened? The plan George had made was to incapacitate him, but he didn’t know when it had changed. He didn’t want Dream dead, even after seeing what Dream had done to Sapnap. He wasn’t a  _ murderer _ . What the fuck had happened to him?

He looked at his hand, the edge of which was stained with Dream’s blood from the second time he’d grasped the knife handle. That part made sense. Nothing else did.

“Tommy, could you leave?” he asked.

“I’m almost done.”

“Sorry, let me rephrase- could you please get the fuck out and leave me alone?”

Wordlessly, Tommy unplugged the carpet cleaner and took it with him, locking the door behind him.

The blood appeared to have been mostly cleaned up, but it was still all George could smell. His nose and mouth were filled with it, he was choking on it, drowning in a pool of it. He began coughing and sputtering from the feeling of it in his throat, and knowing it wasn’t real didn’t seem to stop it.

He was such a fucking idiot. He could have used this opportunity to get out and take Sapnap with him. He could have gotten Dream to the ground, taken the van keys from his pocket, and left. They could be back in town right now, explaining what happened to everyone, convincing them to turn against Dream and protect themselves. 

Instead, he’d gone completely insane.

What was happening to him? Why had he decided to try to kill Dream? What would he have done if he succeeded? 

“Would you ever kill someone, George?”

George sat up with a start, looking around the room for the source of the voice. It was Dream’s voice, as clearly as if he’d spoken in his ear, but Dream wasn’t in the room. 

So he was hallucinating now. Perfect.

“I wouldn’t,” George said. “I’ve only killed zombies.”

“What if they were hurting your family?” Dream asked him. “What if it was the only way to make them stop?”

It sounded so real. It couldn’t be real. Just another contradiction. “Shut the fuck up,” he told Dream’s disembodied voice. “I don’t want to hear you when you’re in here. I shouldn’t have to put up with you when you’re gone, too.”

“Would you kill someone if you had to protect your family?” Dream asked.

“What do you mean, my family? My family’s been dead for more than two years.” George wasn’t particularly torn up by this fact anymore. Everyone else had the same story. Most kids and adults over 30 were automatic casualties- they just didn’t have the strength.

“I mean your family here. The people you care about. If someone threatened them, would you do what had to be done?”   
  
“Are you saying Dream is threatening my family?” George asked. He didn’t think the voice was actually Dream. He might be going insane, but he wasn’t that crazy yet.

“Dream is a part of your family, isn’t he?” Dream replied, his voice coy and amused. 

“I don’t- I don’t know.” George threw a pillow at where he thought the voice was coming from. It didn’t stop. 

“Would you kill him to save Sapnap’s life?”

“Can you fuck off?” George asked. “I don’t want to talk to you. I hate you. Whatever you are.”

“What does it matter if you kill people in the apocalypse, anyway? Dream’s done it. Wilbur tried it, even if the only one he killed was himself. If you killed Dream, no one would be too mad. They already distrust him, and they don’t need him to survive anymore. If you told them what he’s been up to, they might even regard you as a hero.”

“That’s enough.” George pressed the remaining pillow over his ears. It didn’t work, either. The voice just rattled around in his brain.

“You liked it. You watched him bleed to death and you liked it. You wanted him dead.”

“Even if that’s true-”

“It is.”

“It was only for a minute. I don’t want it to happen again. It won’t happen again. I’m not like that, I’m not like him, I’m not insane.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been sitting in this room talking to yourself like you are.”

With that, the disembodied Dream left him- George didn’t know how he knew he was gone, but he did. He hated his certainty. He hated that he’d heard Dream’s voice at all. 

Maybe he really was going mad. 

“Are you done having that mental breakdown yet?” Tommy asked, popping back in the room a few minutes later, leaning on the handle of the carpet cleaner.

“No,” George said. “It’s ongoing.”

“Who were you talking to in here?”

“My family.” He didn’t care what Tommy thought about him. It didn’t really matter. Tommy was gone, anyway, completely unrecognizable. 

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “I get that.” He probably did, too.

“Wilbur?” George guessed.

“Of course. Who’s your ghost?”

“He’s not dead yet,” George shrugged. “But he’s haunting me anyway.”


	15. Philza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> his name is philza minecraft and he is quite old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lore chapter that i put off for way too long, courtesy of the creator of minecraft himself. this might seem out of left field because i haven't really mentioned the sciency shit going on yet, and it's been fourteen chapters. terribly irresponsible of me, i know, but i tried it a while back, and it didn't work. better late than never i guess. more sbi backstory, more angst, and vague hints at things to come.
> 
> warning: pseudoscience ahead. i didn't research it because i am lazy and i hated science when i was in high school. worst subject tbh

Philza Minecraft should have been dead so many times over.

It was thanks mostly to his sons that he wasn’t. At his age, he was in no shape to defend himself from the zombies. There was a reason that everyone else here was twenty years younger than him. He was lucky. Extremely lucky.

From the beginning, the three of them fiercely protected him, Tommy being heartbreakingly young- barely fourteen- but determined to keep up with his brothers. Tubbo joined them soon enough, and they eventually ended up with Dream, all of them recognizing the significance of numbers against the zombies. Phil had no love for Dream, who almost certainly had something to hide, but he never once expressed his distrust. The kid wasn’t even twenty at that point, two years younger than Wil and Techno, and there was certainly a vulnerable child beneath all that bravado that Phil couldn’t bring himself to despise.

He came to learn that Dream viewed him as a weak link. Phil couldn’t dispute that. He did what he could for the group, but he couldn’t hope to keep up with even the weakest of them. It wasn’t just that he was old- he wasn’t even  _ that  _ old. Before the apocalypse he had barely turned forty. He hadn’t considered himself past his prime at all. In fact, before he became practically ancient by zombie apocalypse standards, he frequently thought to himself that he was far too young to die. 

Because Phil should have been dead long before the zombies ever came.

What was more dangerous than being a whistleblower? Being a whistleblower that no one believed.

Enermic Pharmaceuticals, one of the most powerful corporations in the world, had a reputation of stunning benevolence, something that one did not often associate with large corporations. They’d made an incredible scientific breakthrough, a way to improve upon humanity in a simple, ethical, healthy way. A way to alter DNA safely in young children.

Ethically, they did everything right. They distributed the vaccinations worldwide, as evenly as possible, going the extra mile to ensure the children of the rich and powerful would have no significant advantage in access. They rejected eugenicist ideals and only altered genes that would boost a child’s immune system and make them faster, stronger, quicker to recover. They refused to dip into the pool of “curing” neurodivergency. Every chance they had to take advantage of the increasing dependence people had with them, they didn’t take it. A new way of doing business, people called it. Enermic was truly dedicated to the good of humanity.

Wilbur and Techno were among the first to be vaccinated, and seeing them grow up stronger, safer, and healthier made Phil realize that he wanted to be a part of that, to change the world for the next generation to enjoy. He took a job at Enermic when he graduated college. He was young, idealistic, naive.

His wife’s death when Tommy was still young changed all of that. The world became a cold and hateful place, and Phil began to see the filth of it all for what it was. Enermic was no exception.

Phil’s mistake was that he didn’t exactly have any proof of what they were doing. Over the years of working for Enermic, there were things that hadn’t exactly sat right with him, but he had put it aside because he knew what they were working towards would save so many lives. Then the wrongness of it all became too horrifying for him to ignore, and he resigned, told the world what he saw, became a herald of disaster.

No one cared. Worse, they tried to kill him.

Phil moved his family from town to town in a desperate attempt to keep them safe. The twins knew vaguely what was happening; Tommy did not. They were living off next to nothing at one point, but there were eyes around every corner and Phil couldn’t do anything else but run. 

Wilbur began bringing home desperately needed money with no hints as to where he was getting it from. Techno began going out with him and returning with frequent injuries. Phil closed his eyes to it all. He had to. His sons were strong and capable, and his conscience wasn’t any cleaner. They had food to put on the table for Tommy, and that was what mattered. 

It was almost a relief when the zombies came. Now their enemies were mindless monsters, now Tommy had a friend his own age, now their illegal activity was never going to catch up with them. Phil hadn’t felt this safe in years. The world crumbled around him and he could finally catch his breath.

Of course, it didn’t last. It was never meant to be.

Now Phil lived with the son he had left. Techno was bitter, violent, spiteful, miserable, and frequently woke screaming and raging from nightmares in the early morning, but he was alive and by Phil’s side, as stubborn and loyal as ever. He was all Phil had left. He loved his son, even if he wished Techno would make peace with the remains of L’Manberg. He, too, shared Techno’s frustrations with the group that had been the ruin of Wilbur, but at least Phil knew the traumatized children Wil had left behind were not to blame.

He welcomed anyone to their house, but no one stayed long, because Techno insisted on glowering at them from the corner. Despite everything he’d seen in his life, he tried to hold on to what he had wanted in the beginning. A better and safer world for the next generation. An end to the turmoil. Things had gone horribly wrong, but if all he could do was provide a safe place and a listening ear, he would do it. 

He had let Enermic destroy the world. He had let Wilbur destroy himself and Tommy. He was old and getting older, helpless to stop the way things were headed, and he’d failed at everything he’d set out to do. 

But he’d be damned if he was going to give up now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for fridging mumza but i wrote a great line for it later so i had to


	16. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he's not mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for more hallucinated voices

Despite Tommy’s claim that Dream would be fine in a couple days, George didn’t see Dream for a full week. During that time, Tommy brought him food. For six days George ate as little as he could, and on the seventh Tommy delivered him a message from Sapnap.

“He told me to say, ‘Please for the love of God eat something or next time I see you I’ll kick your ass.’ That’s a direct quote.” Tommy set down the plate of food for the fourth day in a row. 

“Did you tell Sapnap what happened?” George asked.

“Of course not. Dream’s already gone to see him twice.”

“But not me.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like getting stabbed.”

The past few days, George had tried to get more information out of Tommy, but the responses he got were either stony silence or unhelpful jabs. He didn’t know whether to believe Tommy or not that Dream was already back on his feet. George was no medical expert, but from the amount of blood Dream had lost, he knew it shouldn't have been that quick of a recovery.

“Fine, I’ll eat,” George said. “But only if you leave.” 

Tommy left. George still had no clues as to why Tommy was with Dream now. He could fill in some of the blanks- Dream had probably manipulated him, lied to him, maybe treated him like he was treating Sapnap. But it was the complete overhaul of his personality that really disturbed George. Tommy was supposed to be loud and disruptive. George never thought he would find himself missing that.

He ate his food, thinking of Sapnap while he did. It still tasted awful, but there had been times before when everything had tasted the same horrible flavor to him, and he’d lived through those. He’d lived through a lot.

“You have, haven’t you. You’re strong, George.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He spoke to the voice almost amiably now. It had the familiar cadences of Dream’s voice, but it said things that Dream wouldn’t, so George wasn’t afraid of it anymore. 

“I think Tommy’s lying to you,” Dream’s voice said. “Dream is dead. You know where you stabbed him, after all.”

George doubted Dream was dead. Not because he thought Dream should have survived- he shouldn’t have, not with the extremely limited medical care Tommy could offer him. No, it was because Dream would never do something as normal and human as dying. 

“So you’re Dream haunting me, then?” he said.

“I don’t know. Maybe I am.”

“You aren’t,” George said. “It always feels like I know what you’re about to say. You’re just me, and I’m done with this conversation.”

“Well, that’s a bit rude.”

“I don’t care. Go fuck yourself.”

“Well, that’s a bit rude.”

The hairs on the back of George’s neck stood straight up- the second repetition hadn’t come from his mind. It was real. He turned slowly, wishing he was wrong, but no, Dream was there in the doorway, unaware that he’d just repeated what the voice in George’s head had said exactly.

“How much did you hear?” George asked him.

“All I heard was you telling me to go fuck myself when I came in.”  
  
“That wasn’t- I wasn’t talking to you.” George put his head in his hands. He shouldn’t have told Dream that. There was clearly no one else in the room. Dream could put two and two together. George didn’t need him to know that he was going crazy.

“Uh, yeah. Listen, George, I’ve been meaning to tell you- I’m sure you’re worried I’m upset that you tried to kill me.” Dream closed the door gently but didn’t lock it and sat on the bed. “But I’m not. I forgive you. I understand.”

 _What the hell._ George rubbed his temple, longing for the weeklong headache he’d been nursing to leave him alone for two fucking seconds. “I didn’t mean to do that.” 

“So you’ve said,” Dream said. “I disagree, I think you did mean to. But like I said, I’m not mad. Tommy told me he mentioned to you that I was mad at you- that wasn’t true. I was annoyed, I’ll admit, but I wasn’t angry.”

“No, I- why are you so happy that I almost killed you? Why wouldn’t you be mad?”

“Well, I feel like it’s fair, isn’t it? I did bring you here, certainly without your consent. You stabbed me. Now we’re even.”

“We are not fucking even,” George said, but he barely even meant it. He was just exhausted. Tired of talking to Dream. Tired of playing this game. Dream could probably tell, too. Whatever.

“You can stab me again, if you’d like. If it’ll make you feel any better.” Dream held out one of his knives. George rolled his eyes.

“Right. Like you’d really let me touch a knife around you ever again.”

Dream raised an eyebrow, leaned over, and put the knife down next to the plate. 

George lifted it up, felt the tip against his finger to test if it was sharp or if Dream had blunted it. Blood welled up from his fingertip almost instantly. “Can I keep this?” he asked, setting it back down so he wouldn’t cut himself again.

“Sure. I have plenty more.” Dream sat back on the bed, stretching his arms above his head, his shirt riding up and revealing a significant amount of skin. Enough that George saw the edge of a bandage wrapped around his chest. His interest was suddenly piqued. He wanted to see just how healed up Dream was. With the way he was acting, he might even show George if he asked, but George didn’t know if he could handle that interaction.

“How bad is it?” he asked, gesturing to the spot where he’d stabbed him.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll make a full recovery,” Dream assured him. “You did a very good job, though. Don’t feel bad that you didn’t kill me.”

He was well and truly stuck here. George sighed. His hand crept toward the handle of the knife, but he slid it in his pocket instead.

“If we’re even,” he said, “maybe you should let me out sometime.”

Dream gave him an appraising look. “Soon, I think.”

“How soon?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Can’t say. But I do think it’s soon. Another week, maybe.”

“You don’t trust me?”

Dream laughed at that, a familiar sound, and the tension in George’s shoulders lifted when he heard it, even though it was far from comforting. “What, do you trust me?”

“Of course not,” George said.

“My answer’s the same- of course I don’t trust you. That’s not a part of the equation. I won’t be able to trust you in a week, either. Trust isn’t important.”

“Then what the hell is important to you?”

“You are, George,” Dream said. “You’re all that matters.”


	17. Tommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he is so fucking tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another tommy chapter. he's officially the first besides george to get multiple chapters. i'm very excited to explore tommy's character here. boy's got shit going on.
> 
> i am very against the idea of infantilizing tommy in this fic. lots of tommy exile fics i read do this, and a few do it to the point where it becomes extremely uncomfortable to read. however unhealthy his coping mechanisms are, however much he needs therapy, he is still sixteen years old, not ten, and he deserves to be taken seriously. ((don't take this as an insult if you've written or enjoyed reading fics like that, it's not really a big deal to me that it happens, only the really weird uncomfy ones are a problem))
> 
> i think it'd be cool if more fics explored the contradictory nature of the ideas that tommy deserves a childhood, and tommy's seen a lot of shit and deserves to have his voice heard as an adult. a lot of stuff that digs into the psychological aspects of war and trauma focuses on the slow process of healing, found family, sbi showering tommy with love as he gradually comes to realize he deserves it. don't get me wrong, i eat that shit up every time. but there's other stuff you can do with tommy too, and i'm trying that here.
> 
> i love reading @/itsakiiwi character analysis twitter threads, except i read them on her instagram because i prefer to stay the fuck away from twitter, and while i don't take direct inspiration from them, they probably indirectly influence how i write tommy and sbi. she has such big brained takes. i'd highly recommend those to anyone interested in character analysis, they're very intelligently written. my goal is to write something as smart as that within the au i'm creating here, but i don't think i'm up to the challenge.
> 
> sorry for the long ass note, one last thing, about dream in this fic- he is not supposed to be redeemable. but he is supposed to make you think he is. that is all.

Tommy wasn’t an idiot.

He watched everything that was going on and listened to everything Dream told him. He did as he was told and he never disobeyed a direct order from Dream. But he also managed to hold everything together behind his back.

From the second Dream’s friends entered the picture, Dream was compromised. For all his speeches to Tommy about releasing the connections that held them back, he couldn’t let go of his two best friends. Tommy didn’t have a problem with this. He could ignore them easily enough, especially when they were both locked away. And he had to admit that they’d be valuable assets for whatever Dream was planning.

But he could tell that Dream was giving George way too much leeway. It wasn’t that he cared about the unequal treatment Dream was giving his two friends. It wasn’t that he wanted George to be hurt too. But Dream was endangering himself, and he couldn’t even see it.

Tommy wasn’t even surprised when he found George crying over Dream’s body. But he was annoyed by the scenario- the first thing he’d felt in weeks. Annoyance. It didn’t stop him from taking care of it. He knocked George out and took Dream out of the room, stitched up the wound as best he could, bandaged it tightly, and returned to George’s room to clean up. Dream woke up a few hours later, and when Tommy told him what happened, he had the audacity to be mad at _Tommy._ For hurting _George._ As if he hadn’t just almost _died_.

“I don’t care that you’re mad at me right now,” Tommy had told him, still annoyed. “You can deal with that later. Right now I have to clean up, and you have to stay still. I’m _handling_ it.”

“Don’t you dare touch George again,” Dream said to him.

“I wasn’t going to. He’s still unconscious.” Tommy returned to George’s room with the clunky old carpet cleaner he’d found in the downstairs closet, fuming. He couldn’t exactly fault George for stabbing Dream, even if it had created this hell of a day for Tommy. He moved George to the bed, feeling the back of his head to make sure it hadn’t started bleeding from when he’d slammed it against the wall. It hadn’t. George might have a headache when he woke up, but he’d be fine.

When George regained consciousness, Tommy acted as if he wasn’t even there until George spoke to him. Impulsively, he told George that Dream was upset with both of them. He knew he’d regret it.

Dream spent the next few days recovering, having Tommy bring George and Sapnap their food until he was healed. He didn’t apologize to Tommy for being an unreasonable fucking prick, but Tommy didn’t need or expect one. He knew his place. He tried to get George to eat something because he knew Dream wanted it, not because he was invested in whether or not George starved himself to death. 

After a week, Tommy was relieved of his duties, since Dream had recovered and gotten back on his feet. He didn’t care. He was content to train and prepare food and kill zombies around the area, whatever Dream wanted. 

But when Dream returned from George’s room and told Tommy to be careful because he’d given George a knife, Tommy was fed up. He understood the psychology of it- in giving George full permission and means to hurt Dream a second time, he would theoretically refrain from doing so. And he wasn’t afraid that George would be fast enough to take Tommy out if he ever tried. 

So why was he so affected by it? While he disagreed with some of the things Dream did, he’d never let them bother him like this before. He was always able to put it aside and do what he was told. Tommy had never had to stop himself from saying something to Dream before. Usually he had to force words out when it was necessary to speak. He hated the feeling.

He could not afford to be getting discontent with his situation now. He didn’t have anywhere else to go, and staying with Dream, having a routine, having orders to fulfill and tasks to complete kept him grounded, gave him a reason to keep going. Dream wasn’t Wilbur, but he was as close as Tommy was going to get. He had to remember that. He couldn’t forget what the alternative was.

So when Dream asked him, as Tommy was checking his wound the next day, “Am I doing the right thing here?” Tommy had no idea what to say.

“I don’t know,” he answered after a moment. “You don’t need the bandaging anymore. You’re basically healed.”

“That’s perfect,” Dream said, peeling away the remaining bandages and pulling his shirt back down. “I know you have to have some kind of opinion about all of this, Tommy. You can share it with me, I won’t punish you for it.”

He forced the next words out of his mouth. “I don’t have a strong opinion. I don’t think you should have let him have the knife, but I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

“Tommy, I value your input,” Dream started.

“No you don’t.”

That made him laugh. “You sound very certain about that fact.”

He was certain. Wilbur had never cared about Tommy’s input, why should Dream? He was just thankful that the stupid impulse to speak his mind was gone. 

“Look, Tommy, I’m happy with this arrangement we have,” Dream said. “It seems you’re happy too. That’s great. But if you have something to say, next time you can say it. I don’t want to silence you.”

This was dangerous. This could get him hurt. Tommy was sick of being hurt.

“That’s okay, Dream,” he said. “I’m fine with whatever.”

Wilbur was in his dreams.

“You’re with Dream now?” he asked Tommy. “Give me my jacket back.”

“You left me,” Tommy told him. “I made do.” He hugged Wil’s jacket closer to him. In the dream, it still smelled like Wilbur.

He’d had some version of this dream a few times before. Each ended with a new and even more miserable surprise. Once Wilbur had killed him, once Tommy had killed Wilbur, once Wilbur had become a giant ugly monster, once Wilbur had become Dream, once Wilbur had become another, crueler version of Tommy. The fear in the dreams was always real, but when he woke up it didn’t last. Nothing did. So it didn’t really matter.

“ _I_ left _you_?” Wilbur asked. “This was always the plan. You left me. You were supposed to come with me.”

“You mean, I was supposed to die.”

“It’s better here,” Wilbur said. “It hurts less. Wouldn’t you like that? Aren’t you hurting?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy told his brother. “You don’t know anything. You’re just in my head. If you were the real Wilbur, you’d say something smart and poetic. You’re a fake, and I don’t love you.”

“So you don’t want to join him?” _Him_ was the real Wilbur. Tommy knew it instinctively, in the way a dreaming person could.  
  
“I never said that.” He scowled at dream-Wilbur. “Look, shit’s complicated right now. I don’t- why am I talking to you about it?”

“Well, you’ve gotta talk to someone, kid, or you’re going to lose it.”

Fake Wilbur had a point, even if he didn’t sound like Wilbur at all. Tommy’s feeble subconscious didn’t have what it took to mimic the speech patterns of his theater nerd brother. “I’m worried about what Dream’s doing,” he admitted. 

“Then do something about it.”

“I can’t. That’s the whole problem. I can’t do anything about it.”

“Why are you even with Dream anyway?” WIlbur asked. “Why did you feel the need to betray me so dramatically after I died? He’s the enemy! He’s evil!”

“He’s all I have,” Tommy explained. “Everyone else left me. And he saved my life.”

“But he’s manipulating you! Can’t you tell what he’s doing?”

“Of course I can.” Tommy fixed his brother with a stare, and thought he caught a glimpse of a familiar mask-wearing man’s wry smile on Wilbur’s face. “But I don’t care, Wil.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m just so tired,” he said, letting himself float off into the dreamy fog. “You’re doing this to me, you know. I just want to sleep.”

“I’m not doing anything to you.” Even though his eyes were closed, Tommy could see Wilbur glaring after him. “You’re doing it all to yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am making a playlist for this fic! most of the tracks are kinda spoiler-y, and i don't have a lot for the early points in the story that i have published now. if you have any song recs, feel free to drop them. i can't promise i will use them but i will check them out!


	18. Eret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they've made mistakes before, but they're trying to be a good parent and a good person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be using they/them for eret, as it makes writing easier when using a regular set of pronouns for each character, and i usually default to they/them for people who use any pronouns.
> 
> i had so much fun with eret's perspective, holy shit. especially near the end. god. i sprinkled some vague implications in there that i'm wondering if anyone will pick up on, since i'm supposed to be practicing subtextual writing for creative writing class. idk how much they'll come into play tbh, but maybe they'll play a bigger role than i originally intended because this chapter was really cool to write. there's a lot of places their character could go.

The kids were all here today, with the notable and unfortunate exception of Tommy. Eret still regretted that they weren’t able to help Tommy, but it was too late for that. They had to focus on the kids that they could help now.

Fundy was always very quiet around other people, and Tubbo and Ranboo were no exception, but at least his quietness felt comfortable when he was with his friends. Neither of them seemed to mind it. That was all Eret wanted- for Fundy to be comfortable. They didn’t need him to be talkative if he didn’t want to be. Fundy was often comfortable speaking to Eret one-on-one, at least, so Eret made it clear they were always available to listen.

They were trying. They were not a therapist or a parent, but they were trying.

“I’m just stressed out right now,” Tubbo was saying. “Everything is a mess. It’s been  _ weeks  _ since Dream, George, and Sapnap disappeared, and we still don’t know anything new. No one has any idea what happened to them. I’m just scared it’ll all start from the beginning, like it was, and I’m not a leader like Wilbur- I couldn’t be. I don’t think I could fight Dream again.”

“I don’t want to fight again,” Ranboo agreed. “I don’t think any of us want that.” Fundy nodded in agreement.

Eret returned with snacks for them- carrot sticks they’d cut up from the carrots from Niki’s garden. Real snacks were hard to come by, so they made do. “None of that here,” they said. “This is a day for you all to relax. There’ll be no fighting if I have anything to say about it.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Tubbo said with the weariness of a much older man. “But thank you, Eret.”

“You can thank me by talking less about war and more about…” Eret trailed off, racking their brain for a different conversation topic. “Well, anything else, really.”

“Niki and Puffy’s flowers,” Fundy spoke up unexpectedly, before Tubbo could say something true and painful about how there was nothing else to talk about. 

“That’s right! Did you two see the flowers Niki dropped off yesterday? Her irises bloomed.” Eret went to the kitchen to grab the vase and returned, setting it down on the coffee table in front of them. “Purple is one of my favorite colors.”

“Mine too,” Fundy agreed.

“They are nice,” Ranboo said. “I pressed the flower Niki gave me in my book.” He opened up his notebook to show them. “It was a good memory. I don’t have a lot of good memories. I keep flipping back to it, cause it kinda sticks out.”

_ I don’t have a lot of good memories.  _ Eret grimaced. Hopefully they could give Ranboo another one today.

Even though everyone from L’Manberg had long forgiven them, they still felt guilty. They’d only wanted the best for Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo, and Fundy- even Niki at the time was too young to be tied up in the war. After Wilbur’s death, Tubbo offered Eret a house in L’Manberg again, and Eret gladly took up their old residence, inviting Fundy to live with them too. They had been redeemed in everyone’s eyes, by now, but their own.

Eret had always tried to do what they thought was best. That didn’t mean they had always succeeded. They were as fallible as anyone else, as prone to trickery. Dream had seen it and taken advantage of it, convincing Eret to betray L’Manberg by framing it as concern for the kids Wilbur was manipulating. Eret had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. They should have known that Dream didn’t care for the well-being of the kids any more than Wilbur did.

Wilbur had never forgiven them. Eret didn’t try to reason with him, recognizing a lost cause when they saw one. Instead, they had shown as much kindness to Tubbo and Fundy in particular as they could, staying out of the continuing conflicts directly except to watch and interfere when it seemed one of the kids was in trouble. They established a reputation as someone kind, calm, level-headed, someone who defused conflicts and wanted peace. It was certainly an improvement on their previous reputation as a traitor.

Eret frequently wondered if they were being selfish, secretly, underneath all of their kindness. They wanted to be welcomed back by the people they had betrayed, to find a home with them again. Were they motivated by that rather than genuine care for Fundy and the others? They weren’t sure.

After a few hours, Tubbo and Ranboo went home and Eret started making dinner for them and Fundy. While they were trying to give Fundy schoolwork to do using some old textbooks they’d found on one of many searches through town, they made sure to pace the learning very flexibly, skipping the stuff that both of them found boring and useless, and taking a day or two to do nothing if necessary. That way, Fundy wouldn’t learn to hate school nearly as much as Eret had when they’d been in school. It seemed to be working, but Eret couldn’t really tell.

As they made dinner, Fundy wrapped himself around their waist, making it a lot more difficult to walk around the kitchen, but Eret didn’t mind. Fundy was often quiet, but when he became more comfortable with a person, he became very cuddly, constantly seeking physical contact. Eret was always happy to provide.

“How hungry are you tonight?” they asked Fundy.

“Not very,” Fundy mumbled. For a while Eret had had to coax an honest answer about food out of him, but now they could believe him when he said he wasn’t hungry. Apparently Wilbur hadn’t been so considerate with food, or with a lot of things.

“Alright, just let me know if that changes.” Eret had a strict policy of letting Fundy fill his own plate and not forcing him to finish everything on it. They had read a few child psychology books when they first took him in, crossed out the bits they thought were bullshit, and done their best to treat Fundy as his own person, capable of making his own decisions. 

Wilbur hadn’t done any of that. Wilbur had done many things wrong.

Eret was there when Wilbur took Fundy in, and the more they thought about it, the more they realized that Wilbur had never tried to be a good father. Like Eret, he’d had no idea what he was doing, but unlike Eret, he hadn’t made any attempt to figure things out. He’d never raised a hand against Fundy or directly mistreated him as far as Eret knew, but he’d certainly been neglectful, certainly asked things of him that no parent should ask a child, no adult should ask a thirteen or fourteen-year-old.

And yet- Fundy still missed him.

Eret found him crying at night, frequently, silently, attempting to go unnoticed. “I miss my dad,” he would always say when they asked him what was wrong. “I miss Wilbur.” Eret always tried to be understanding and kind, but they didn’t know what there was to miss. They were there for Fundy now, and they were a much better parental figure than Wilbur, right? 

If only Eret had a time machine, they would travel back and take Fundy in before Wilbur ever got to. The rest of the kids as well, even Niki and Quackity. They wouldn’t let any of them go along with Wilbur’s manipulation. They would keep everyone safe from Wilbur and from Dream, try to make peace with everyone else. No fighting. No war against anything but the zombies.

Well, there was no point wishing for impossible things. They could start now, do what they could to prevent it all from happening again. If Dream brought a second war to L’Manberg, Eret would have to find a way to stop him. What would they do to protect the kids? What would they be willing to do?

They knew the answer. They would kill Dream, if necessary. Without hesitation. They would kill anyone who threatened the lives of their kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i fucked with smp canon. niki, quackity and ranboo were around for the beginning. why? bc i wanted them to be.
> 
> i keep referencing that it's been two years since the zombie apocalypse started, but really it's about two and a half, meaning some people are two years older than when they started, and some are technically three years older. the timeline isn't strictly planned out, so if you see a contradiction no you don't <3
> 
> that makes the canon ages at L'Manberg's very beginning:  
> fundy: 13  
> tommy and tubbo: 14  
> ranboo: 15 (?)  
> niki: 17  
> quackity: 17, almost 18  
> eret: 20  
> and wilbur: 21
> 
> so yeah, woohoo for wilbur's child army. not a good look. 
> 
> current ages:  
> fundy: 15  
> tommy: 16  
> tubbo and ranboo, probably: 17  
> niki: 19  
> quackity: 20  
> eret: 22  
> wilbur: 23 but dead
> 
> anyway, drop your thoughts on eret. what are their true convictions and motivations? any new opinions on wilbur? it would be poggers if you gave me some feedback


	19. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dream has been doing some off-camera gaslighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another time skip, this one like a couple weeks or something. i am terrible at timelines. i refuse to commit to a specific amount of time and it comes back to bite me in the ass. and yet i have the opportunity, like now, to set a specific amount of time that passed and i don't. i think it has to do with the fact that i don't keep track of time passing in real life whatsoever. apparently it's february now? wild. i didn't know that. what month is it in the story? don't ask i have no fuckin clue.
> 
> this chapter has been sitting around in my 85 page google doc fic draft for so long that i forgot it's not that climatic or impactful. well, kind of, i guess. i've lost the ability to tell since i've read it so many times. this is why people use betas, probably.

The door was unlocked- he had tested it to make sure. Had Dream forgotten to lock it? Could George really be that lucky? Or had Dream done this on purpose, just another way to make him lose his mind? 

Dream would have to leave soon. He’d been taking many trips back to town or to god knew where. George always heard the car start and drive off, even if he couldn’t see it from the windows in his room, and he knew Dream wouldn’t trust Tommy with the privilege of driving the precious van. He waited until he heard the van pull away, then opened the door as quietly as possible and snuck downstairs. He didn’t see Tommy anywhere. He stopped to listen at the basement door for several minutes before gathering up the courage to go in.

It had been almost a full month, by his estimation, since he’d seen Sapnap. He didn’t know what to expect.

It was better than the first time. Sapnap had a mattress, a water jug, a small desk lamp, a paperback novel. He was actually reading it. George had never known Sapnap to read. He must have been unbelievably bored. He perked up when he heard George coming down the stairs. 

“Oh, it’s you,” Sapnap said, sounding almost disappointed, but not quite. More bewildered than anything. “You're allowed out now?”

“Sapnap, are you ready to leave?” George asked. He wasn’t sure anymore, especially considering how he’d been feeling the past month and a half. Dream was definitely getting to him. He couldn’t trust that Sapnap was any better off than he was.

“Of course,” Sapnap said, tossing aside the book and sitting up. Most of the bruises George had seen on him last time had faded, and there were fewer new ones in their place. His arm seemed to be somewhat healed and wrapped in a makeshift cast, and he was breathing much easier. “When are we going?”

George was flooded with relief. “Right now, I guess. As soon as possible.”

“Is Tommy coming as well?”

George hadn’t spared a thought for Tommy. It was cruel, yes, but he’d written him off entirely. The kid was way too far gone no matter how he looked at it, and trying to convince him along would only endanger his and Sapnap’s chances. He’d resist them every step of the way. “You really think he’d want to?”

“Well, he’d probably be reluctant to show his face in town again, you’re right. But yeah, I’m sure he’d love to come with us.”

“He’s a damn good actor, then.”

“Yeah… wait, what do you mean? Has Tommy been telling you otherwise? Do we have to tell Dream?”

The words hit him like freezing cold water. “Oh, god, Sapnap. No. Please don’t tell me you’re-”

“We’re not on the same page here, are we,” Sapnap said sadly. “George, I’m so sorry. Did he hurt you? He said he wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“No, he hasn’t,” George said. “He only did once. It wasn’t… come on, Sapnap, you can’t be worried about me when he comes down here and beats the shit out of you every night!”

“He doesn’t really,” Sapnap said. “Not anymore. He’s gotten me stuff, cause I’ve been doing better. He only ever hit me when I was messing things up.”

George closed his eyes and remembered all the times he’d cussed Dream out the moment he set foot in his room, the times he’d tried to escape. Dream had pushed him away when George had tried to kill him, and that was it. There was simply no way Sapnap had been worse than he had. There was no way he deserved this and George didn’t.

Of course, his relationship with Dream was very different from Sapnap’s or Tommy’s.

“Maybe you’re right,” George said. “I’ve been doing fine here.” (A lie.) “You’re the one I’m worried about. When’s the last time he hurt you?”

“Two weeks,” Sapnap said. “Most of these were Tommy. He has to, though, I think. I don’t blame him either. He doesn’t hit as hard. And Dream’s actually been being nice.”

_ Of course he has _ . Dream had completely lost it, but he was so fucking strategic. He would probably see straight through George unless he put an obscene amount of effort into the charade, which might wear him out mentally enough to just give up. George had held on to the stupid delusion that he could take whatever Dream threw at him for weeks now, but it was time to admit that the probability of this ending in disaster for George was very, very high. What made him any stronger or smarter than Dream? Than Sapnap, even? What qualified him to take this stand?

He’d work on convincing Sapnap every chance he got. Leaving without him wasn’t an option. And maybe he’d have to do other unpleasant things too. George had no idea how up to the task he was. He was probably doomed to fail.

“I’m just so scared, Sap,” he said, and that was honest enough that he could put genuine emotion into it. Sapnap gestured for George to sit down beside him on his shitty mattress, and threw his arm around him. God, he’d lost weight. And George had too, because he’d been refusing food like an idiot. He resolved to start eating again, no matter how much it sucked. 

For Sapnap.   


“I think it’ll be okay,” Sapnap said. “Dream’s been talking to me a lot. He’s got big plans. I think we’re going to get out of here just like you want, as long as you’re good.”

So fucking creepy. This was going to be impossible.

The door creaked open, and George froze as Tommy came down the stairs. “I thought I heard voices,” he said. “Is Dream letting you go around now?”

“He just came in here,” Sapnap said, distancing himself from George, his voice rising higher with each word. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I think it’s fine if you talk,” Tommy said. “Dream wouldn’t have left the door unlocked if he didn’t want you to leave, George. But he’d probably want me to be here while you’re talking.” He sat down on the floor facing them.

George had never used to be afraid of Tommy. He was just a dumb kid. A dumb kid who caused an obscene and often unmanageable amount of trouble, but also a lightweight sixteen-year-old who he could take out with one punch. That was no longer true by any means, and George wondered if it had ever been.    
  
This Tommy was completely unfamiliar. He wasn’t remotely the same person. And if his capability had been obscured before by his sheer absurdity, now it was laid bare. 

“Tommy, what happened to your eye?” George asked. It was a question he’d been wanting the answer to since he’d first seen him again. Tommy had replaced the bloodstained ripped t-shirt he’d first used to cover it with an actual gauze bandage that wasn’t wrapped around his head now, and it had helped his transition from pathetically injured to intimidating.

“It wasn’t Dream, if that’s what you’re asking. He helped it heal, actually. He thinks he’s going to find a way to get my vision back, but I don’t really believe him. I mean, look at this.” He pulled the bandage away, and George averted his eyes a moment too late, catching a glimpse of a half-healed gaping hole in Tommy’s face. 

“Yikes,” Sapnap said. “That’s fucked.”

“If it wasn’t Dream, how did it get like that?” George asked, staring determinedly at the ground.

“I shouldn’t say. But it really wasn’t him. I guess you have no reason to trust me,” Tommy said. At least he actually sounded like a person now. He didn’t sound like the old Tommy at all, but it was an improvement from that creepy monotone subservience. “It’s fine, though. It doesn’t hurt that bad anymore.” He covered it back up, and George wished he wasn’t so squeamish. It was an enormous inconvenience to have such an aversion to gore in a zombie-filled wasteland.

“Tommy, what happened to you in exile?” he asked. 

Tommy just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: two or possibly three flashback chapters. i'm very excited for these.


	20. Tommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he's a dead man walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is part one of two flashback chapters. this is tommy's flashback, but he's not telling george and sapnap this, he's just remembering it himself. this chapter and the next are among the first scenes i ever wrote for this, the very first being chapter one, i think.
> 
> tomorrow's chapter is going to be fairly long. it's six pages in the google doc as opposed to the usual 2-4 pages. this one, unfortunately, is not so long. it was the only good way i could split it in half.

The zombies came, because zombies always come. 

He’d been in exile for a few weeks now. Dream came frequently, but no one else did. Dream had mentioned off-handedly a few days ago that he’d offered to take Tubbo out here to visit Tommy with him, but Tubbo had declined. Tommy couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t want to see himself like this either.

He’d faced plenty of zombie hordes before, but never this many at once, never alone. A horde this size would have been easy for him and his family. He and Wilbur together would have managed it, and they had before when they were out here on their own. But Wilbur wasn’t here. Techno could do it with ease, but if Techno was here, he’d just toss Tommy to the zombies and be done with it.

He fought, of course, and he took out as many as he could. Tommy was good at killing zombies- he once hubristically referred to himself as the best zombie slayer of anyone in town. While it may have been an exaggeration, he could certainly hold his own better than anyone would expect of him. But one got his arm, three more managed to knock him to the ground and pin him there, and it was over.

He’d seen it coming. People didn’t survive long on their own, and he was no exception. So when Dream showed up and took out the rest of them, it didn’t matter. Tommy might as well have already been dead. 

“You’re too late,” he said. “Just finish me off now. You’d be doing both of us a favor.”

“I can’t do that, Tommy,” Dream explained while dragging him back inside the shitty little farmhouse Tommy had been sheltering in. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t want you dead.”

“Well, you’re going to have me dead one way or another.” He could feel blood coming down his neck and shoulder, but he couldn't feel much of his face at all. It was probably already rotting off. “Hate to disappoint.”

“You’re not going to die. You’ll probably lose the eye, but that’s it. I’m pretty sure I’ve left you worse off than this before.” He deposited Tommy onto the couch inside.

“Dream, you prick, I’m infected.”

Dream stepped back and took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He never wore the mask around Tommy anymore, and Tommy didn’t pretend to know what that meant. “Okay. Fine. I can work with this.” 

“Work with- what, you’ve got cures now?”

“What if I do?” 

Tommy was already struggling to keep his one remaining eye open, but the expression on Dream’s face made it worse. It was hard to look at. “Well, you’d be an idiot for wasting one on me,” he said finally, not believing him in the least.

Cures for a zombie bite were a blissful rumor back in the day, a promise from Enermic that they would fix the mess they created. Enermic had sworn to create and distribute a vaccine for the zombie virus soon, if humanity just held out long enough. That little glimpse of hope, a month or two into the outbreak, was long dead. It died with the scientists that had been tasked with developing it.

“Tommy, you’re not going to die,” Dream said with complete confidence. “I want you alive. Do you have bandages around here?” Tommy didn’t respond, because the ceiling above him was spinning. “Your face is kind of a bloody pulp right now.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I figured.” He caught one last glimpse of Dream’s stupid face looming over him before he finally lost consciousness.

He woke up again, alone. His entire left arm was bandaged, as was his face, which was still mostly numb- meaning he’d definitely been infected. He tried not to cry, because zombies cried blood and he didn’t know how far along he was yet, but if he started bleeding from his eye he’d lose it. Thankfully, his tears were still normal.

He was lying on the couch, the one that was little more than bloodstained bits of foam clinging to springs that were knifepoints in his back. He vaguely remembered Dream moving him here. Dream had left a note, too, next to his prized machete lying on the coffee table- why the hell would he leave the machete? What was he thinking? Why hadn’t he killed Tommy yet?

Reading was next to impossible with one dubiously functioning eye. It didn’t help that his lightheadedness refused to dispel, either. Dream’s handwriting was godawful. It looked like he’d been trying to intentionally stab the paper with the pen he was writing with, there were so many punctured holes in it.  _ Survive for the day for me, okay? If you don’t, I’ll be very upset. I’m not confident enough that I can get you back if you go full zombie. Don’t leave the house if you can help it.  _

He had left a half-empty water bottle and a single can of kidney beans on the table as well, but Tommy had had days with less. Maybe not days where he was quite this injured. He had no faith in Dream fulfilling his ridiculous promise, but he was still just afraid enough of death to resist taking matters into his own hands and ending it. 

For the remainder of the daylight hours he focused on barricading the house properly. It was difficult work with one hand, and he was exhausted, probably from all the slow and painful dying he was doing. He took a nap an hour or two before sunset so he’d be somewhat alert in case any more zombies came. He could probably fend off two or three with the machete. Any more than that and he’d be overrun, but what did it matter, really? He wouldn’t be around to witness Dream’s disappointment.

That was the point where he started to black out entirely, sometimes from one blink of an eye to the next. Sometimes he would return to consciousness in a different spot than where he’d left. As far as he could tell, no zombies were trying to claw their way in, maybe because they could smell it on him now. Well, if they could smell things. Tommy honestly didn’t know. He didn’t really know anything about how zombies worked besides how to kill them. In the fantasy world where he survived this, he figured he could ask Dream about it.

He didn’t hear the van pull up, but he did hear Dream busting in through the window. The sequence of events after that was all fuzzy, but at some point he was slumped over in the passenger seat and Dream was talking to him.

“How long have you been falling unconscious for?” he asked.

“How would I know?” Tommy said. “That’s a stupid question.” 

And he was gone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started writing a time traveler karl fic. might publish the first couple chapters soon, idk. i have no idea. lots of karlnap. i've got to get a good idea of where it's all headed before i publish anything, though, because i don't want to end up discontinuing shit.


	21. Tommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he's built different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fat fucking tw for this chapter. mentions of previous suicide attempts and self harm.
> 
> this chapter is twice as long as most of the ones i post. more content, more pain

He woke up to Dream retracting a needle from his arm.

“Are you here now?” Dream asked him. “Are you awake?”

“Was that it?” Tommy managed to ask. He was probably slurring his words. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth. “God.”

“No, that was just something to get you awake for a few minutes. It won’t last too long. Can you move at all?”

All he could do was lift his right hand a little up into the air. “I can’t really see anything. Where are we?”

He was lying down on a hard surface, and he could see the vague shape of Dream from the waist up standing over him, wearing the mask. He must have been on something raised higher up than the floor, like a countertop, maybe. Most of his body was numb. A lot of the left side he couldn’t really feel at all. But at least his mind was clearer than it had been, whatever that was worth.

“This is where I used to work as an intern,” Dream said. “I got coffees, pushed papers, watched over people’s shoulders. You know the lab where the virus actually originated? Enermic Pharmaceuticals?”

“Thought that was in Cali,” Tommy said.

“It was. But they had other labs. Other research facilities. Some of them weren’t exactly public knowledge. A few of them were built almost entirely underground.”

“We’re in some dodgy science experiment basement? That’s what you’re saying right now?”

“I hate this place so fucking much,” Dream said with relish. “I thought I was going to die down here.” He shook his head, the simple motion of which made Tommy dizzy. “Anyway. I didn’t die. You’re not going to either, I promise. But, uh. I did get a bit of ethics down in college before everything went to shit, the important stuff. Informed consent.”

“Dream, what the fuck are you on about?”

“They had stuff that cures the infection down here,” Dream said. “And no one but me knows it’s here. Five doses left, a lot of it got shipped out to god knows where before… sorry, I’m getting off track. Informed consent. I gotta explain it to you.”

Tommy could feel himself getting more tired. “Do it quick then, you’ll be losing me again in a few minutes.”

“It’s a cure,” Dream said. “It definitely works. Limited trials, but 100 percent success rate, if you can believe it. Even brought someone fully back once. But it’s not  _ only _ a cure. It wasn’t even supposed to be one in the first place. It does other shit to you.”

“It’s gonna make me go nuts like you, then?”

“Not directly. I expect it’s the traumatic experience of almost turning into a zombie and coming back that does it. But you’ve had lots of trauma already, you’ll be fine.”

“So what’s the big deal?”

Dream exhaled slowly, squeezing a clump of hair from the side of his head in his fist. Tommy hadn’t even noticed until now that Dream’s hair was down, but it made him look even more unstable. “You know the shit they give you at birth or when you’re really little? They do it along with all your vaccines, but it’s not really a vaccine, it’s like- it’s information. It re-codes your DNA.”

“Yeah, that’s how we’re all better and healthier than humans of the past or whatever. I went to middle school, I know this shit.”

“This is that,” Dream said, “but a lot more. It takes some getting used to. And it’s got some side effects to it. Although honestly, I usually can’t tell what’s from this stuff and what’s…” He trailed off. “Well, one thing that’s definitely from this is how much I have to eat now. You can’t starve yourself out of convenience anymore.”

Stars were dancing in front of his eyes- well, eye. “I’m about to pass out again,” he told Dream. “I don’t care what happens to me anymore. Do what you want.”

It wasn’t anything like instant, and the entire time he was unable to hear anything Dream was saying over the ringing in his ears, and he might have been hallucinating a bit, because he was certain Tubbo was watching him too. He could feel his eyes on him.

He was probably convulsing around, if he’d had any awareness of his body. For the first time in a long goddamn while, things felt properly apocalyptic. Tommy wasn’t sure he’d even cared too much during the initial zombie attacks or the subsequent collapse of society. It seemed like a natural progression of events for the disaster his life had become, and at age 14 he’d had no grasp on reality anyway. After that, nothing could really sway him. Well, Wilbur’s death had, but he’d mostly shut down any feelings he had about it. Not like he was given time to do any grieving.

Eventually, he could feel most of his body again, which was a major downgrade because he was sore all over. He laid on the white countertop curled up in the fetal position for what felt like hours after that, finally finding it in him to move when Dream returned with food. 

“Are you hungry?” Dream asked him.

“So fucking hungry,” Tommy said. He was probably just going mad, but everything seemed zoomed out from where it was before. “I could eat like, a thousand cheeseburgers.”

“Please don’t mention cheeseburgers,” Dream said. “I miss them so much. I’d kill for a cheeseburger.”

“You’d kill anyway,” Tommy said.

“True. But only if there was something in it for me. Speaking of which, would you like to hear a story? I’ve been itching to tell this one since it happened. Even George and Sapnap don’t know about it.”

“Is it about you killing people?”

“Yeah, quite a few people. Though they would have died anyway. But that’s at the end. There’s a fair amount of backstory leading up to it. This was more than two years ago, I think.”

“Before the zombies,” Tommy said. “I guess I never thought about what you were up to before the zombies. What, you were an actual person, then? You weren’t always a lunatic?”

“We just had this conversation. I told you this. I worked here.”

“I was delirious. Still am, actually.” Dream rolled his eyes. “Go on, tell me about mad scientist shit, then.”

“It’s a very complicated story,” Dream said. “You may as well get comfortable.”

There wasn’t exactly a good way to get comfortable in an abandoned evil laboratory. Tommy slid down to the floor and leaned against the wall, tearing into a can of kidney beans. He hated beans.

“I was eighteen years old when I first applied here. I was an intern for about six months before things got really bad. During that time I signed enough non-disclosure agreements to paper my room. A lot of it went mostly over my head anyway, and almost all of it is obsolete now, but I guess it excited me to be an insider, involved, however loosely, with all these big top secret projects. It was like a secret double life, I guess. But I was in college at the same time and I think I started the ethics class halfway through, and, well, I knew they were going about things the wrong way beforehand. I wasn’t an idiot. But it really put things into perspective. I got scared. I asked a few wrong questions of a few wrong people. They figured out that I was too much of a pussy to actually do anything about it, so they let me carry on, but the atmosphere had completely changed. The researchers went from being neutral towards me, carrying on casual conversations, to casting me sideways looks, talking about projects less and less in my presence. I got antsy and started wanting to quit, but I was told in no uncertain terms that I was not allowed to quit. I didn’t care. Going there had started to become a nightmare of anxiety and stress. I turned in my resignation, gave my month's advance notice. 

“On my last day of work, maybe about a month before the initial breakout, I was on lunch break when they pinned me down and sedated me. I woke up in one of those little cells, the ones meant for keeping live animal subjects. If I’d had a hair tie to put my hair up, it would have scraped the ceiling. My wingspan was just long enough that I could touch both sets of opposite walls at the same time.”

“How long were you in there?” Tommy asked.

“A month, at least. Closer to two, maybe.”   
  
“Jesus Christ. No wonder you’re a crazy bastard.”

“Yeah, I went on a hunger strike for a week and a half before I caved. Later I negotiated a shower, got hold of some dinky little blade and tried to kill myself. Didn’t work. Should have gone for the throat, probably.” He casually rolled up his sleeve to show Tommy the long, ugly vertical scar that ran down most of his forearm. “Few days later I got an even stronger strain of what I’ve just given you. It’s nowhere near FDA approved, this stuff. I expect I’ll burn out in my mid-thirties if I live that long, just shrivel up or some shit.” 

Tommy must have looked as horrified as he felt, because Dream’s face softened. “That was probably a bit much, sorry,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Tommy realized. “Well, not  _ good  _ really, but- I’m-”

“You’re not going to die anymore,” Dream said.   
  
“Exactly. I guess you know exactly how I’m feeling if you did this yourself.”

“Not exactly. I mean, I’m telling you the nicer version of events here. I didn’t really have any ability to distinguish which symptoms were coming from where. You’ll have to let me know how it’s going for you so I can work on narrowing it down a bit.”

Dream was being incredibly vulnerable with him right now, and Tommy had no idea why. They’d been enemies for a long time, but it seemed that that time was decidedly over. And even though he was telling Tommy all these personal traumatic things, it only served to terrify him even more. The way he’d described his suicide attempts so nonchalantly… was there anything that could get him worked up? Was he even a person anymore?

Was that going to happen to him too?

“You mentioned this story ended with you killing a lot of people,” Tommy said. 

“Yeah, they let me out once the zombies came because I was the only one that could kill them. There must have been two hundred of the bastards out there. Once I was done they got all excited, realizing I could protect them if they could get me to keep doing it, so they came up with a way to motivate me to be their little zombie killing machine. Some kind of drug. No idea what it was, and I never found any more of it here, but suddenly I was thinking somewhat clearly, and then I killed them all and shoved all the corpses in another one of those little rooms. The end.”

“Doesn’t this place freak you out then?” Tommy asked. “Like, I don’t think I’d ever be able to go back to the house we lived in before. I’d lose it. PTSD and shit. Does that not affect you?”

“It’s not that much worse than anywhere else,” Dream said with a shrug. “Everything’s a bad memory now.”

“Everything?” Tommy asked. “What about, like, your friends?”

“Don’t have them anymore,” he said. “They left.” 

It was the first time he’d heard anything that sounded like emotion in Dream’s voice. It was almost imperceptible, but Tommy was sure he’d heard it.

“What about you?” Dream asked. “Got any good memories that survived? Or is everything ruined for you now?”

Tommy opened his mouth to argue that he had plenty of good memories of his family. But they weren’t any good anymore, really. His brothers- Wilbur was dead and Techno hated him as much as he hated Techno. Or as much as he acted like he did, anyway. Phil had clearly sided with Techno, and Tommy was trying to forget his dad as much as he could. It was easier that way. He'd already prepared for losing his dad, anyway, at Wilbur's suggestion back when they were on their own and every other adult they knew had died. Wilbur had always been smart about death. Like when their mom had died. 

At first Phil had told him that his mom had to leave and she wouldn’t be coming back but she loved him very much. Wilbur managed to convince Phil that it wasn’t a proper explanation for how old Tommy had been at the time- he deserved the truth. But Tommy had lashed out at Wilbur, saying he’d rather have gone on believing his mother wasn’t really dead.

“What’s the difference between her dying and her never coming back?” Wilbur had asked him. “One way, you get to torture yourself wondering what she’s doing, where she’s going without you. The other way, you already know the answer. You can let her go.”

Maybe his brother had always been mad. But he was right, too, about almost everything. And so was Dream, in the end. He’d begun to remind Tommy of his brother, in so many ways.

“It’s all ruined, isn’t it?” Dream said.

“They used to be good,” Tommy said. “I don’t know when they stopped.”

“So what makes you happy anymore, Tommy? What’s kept you going this last month, if not happy memories?”

Tommy just stared at him. “I’m not sure. Everything just…”

“Hurts?” he supplied.

“You’ve gotta stop finishing my sentences like that. It’s freaky.”

Dream grinned, but it wasn’t from happiness. Maybe some bastardized version of it. “So when everything and everyone hurts, what are you gonna do except hurt it back?”

It was such a startlingly Wilbur thing to say. He’d never expressed such a sentiment to Tommy, but It had undeniably become his unspoken doctrine by the end. And Tommy had followed him right into it and managed to come out alive, if only by the skin of his teeth.

Wilbur and Dream weren't so different after all. Maybe this could work. Maybe this was how he survived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm trying to big brain this story and make all the relationships needlessly complex and dramatic and messy, is it working?


	22. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can't feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dnfers come get y'all juice i guess. do me a favor and don't forget that this is not a healthy relationship in any way. or do forget if u want. i can't stop u.
> 
> tw for dissociation and maybe derealization shit? idk the difference tbh i should really have learned it by now considering i experience one or both of them on the regular 
> 
> additional tw- i really don't wanna tag this fic as non-con because i would never read a fic with a non-con warning, but it's a slightly iffy situation. i tried to make it not so noticeable and significant, i don't think it requires a warning but i wanna be super safe with this in particular because it's an issue that's close to home. it's not sexual though. they don't get near that point. if you take issue at all with how i've explained this after reading it PLEASE tell me. i want to get this right.
> 
> this was barely proofread. there might be some cringe dialogue in there. if so, i apologize, but i've taken enough time with this already and i gotta get it out

George was on the couch downstairs, mainly because he could be. He was reluctant to return to his bedroom for several reasons. The couch was not going to be a comfortable place to sleep tonight, but he’d been going insane in that room.

He had resolved, for now, to make nice with Dream, to go along with whatever he wanted- and he had a feeling that he knew what Dream wanted. He wasn’t sure what to do about that. It made him sick, mostly because he wanted it too. He still remembered what it was like to sleep next to Dream and hear his breathing when he woke in early morning from nightmares. George had never made much of a fuss about his nightmares. Everyone had them, and he knew from all those nights with Dream that Dream’s were much, much worse.

There was still a tightness in his chest when he heard the van pull up outside, an anxiety that he couldn’t seem to calm. He recognized it as the same instinctive guilt that he felt hearing his mother come down the hallway outside his room when he was much younger. It didn’t matter whether or not he’d done something wrong. It was muscle memory. He hated that Dream had that effect on him now. He wanted to break something.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave,” Dream said on seeing George. His face broke into a small smile. “I believed in you.”   
  
“I saw Sapnap today,” George confessed immediately. “I missed him. I’m so glad you let me see him.” He wasn’t glad, because Dream was the entire reason he wasn’t able to see Sapnap before, he reminded himself. This was just one of the new precautions he had to take. No matter what he was saying out loud, he had to stay firm on the idea that Dream was bad, Dream was evil, Dream was not his friend.

“I think I can trust him now,” Dream said. “You can see each other when you like, now that things are better. But, George, are you planning on sleeping down here?”

“I think so,” George said. “Is that alright?”  _ I don’t care about your approval, you piece of shit. _

“If you want to,” Dream said. “I would think your bed would be more comfortable, but if you’d rather be down here, that’s fine with me.”

“I just needed a change of scenery,” George said. He couldn’t stand to look at the place where he’d almost killed Dream anymore, especially when there was little else in the room to look at. He’d probably end up back in the room tomorrow night, depending on how shitty the couch was. He could only miss so much sleep before he completely stopped functioning. 

He’d have to nail this performance. He couldn’t be too pathetic. He couldn’t flip-flop too fast. Dream would catch on. He had to be wary, uncertain, untrusting, but longing for affection, ready to break down. 

“I’ve been feeling like shit lately,” he told Dream. “Dizzy. My mouth is always dry. I keep… thinking. I don’t really know what’s wrong with me. I keep thinking about the blood.”

“George, I already told you, it didn’t bother me. I still love you.” Dream came to sit beside him and wrapped a comforting arm around him. For the first time he could remember, George didn’t push him away. He could feel Dream’s fingers touching his hip, the pinky and ring finger low enough to touch skin, and tried not to visibly show disgust. He reflected, not for the first time, on how absurd the way Dream talked about George stabbing him was. 

“I know, Dream, but it bothered me,” he said. “A lot. I would never do that. That wasn’t me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m glad to hear that, of course,” Dream said. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m more worried about your other symptoms. Do you need to drink more water? I can get you more water.” He leaned over and felt George’s forehead with his free hand. “No fever, I don’t think. You’re safe there. You said you were feeling dizzy, too?”

“Dizzy, lightheaded. Out of my head, sometimes. Like, I’ll stand up and I can barely feel the floor beneath me.”

“Is it a bad feeling?”

George stared at him. “Of course it is.” Dissociation was always a horrible feeling. He hated not feeling present. It wasn’t safe. He felt like anyone could do anything to him, and he wouldn’t be able to snap back in and stop them. 

“Then I’ll try to help you, if you don’t want that happening to you. I can understand it’s probably scary.” Dream took ahold of his hand, entangling their fingers together. “Do you think it’s because you haven’t been eating? I know it’s a sore subject for you, but I really need you to eat some food once in a while. I think you’ll probably feel better.”

“I told Sapnap I would,” George said, “so I will. I think it’s getting better.” It absolutely wasn’t, but he would eat anyway, at least once a day. He understood the importance of getting his strength back. He would only make it through this if he started caring for himself. 

“That’s great,” Dream said. “That’s amazing. Seriously, George, if you’re ever hungry feel free to grab whatever food you can find or come get me. I don’t care what time it is. I want you to eat and get better.” He squeezed George’s hand gently. “I really care about you, you know.”

“I know,” George responded. He wasn’t sure how Dream expected him to respond, so he looked down at his feet. 

“I’ve told you plenty of times that I love you,” Dream said. “And I’m wondering, I’m just curious, do you love me? Do you care about me?”

George’s whole body froze in place. If he had anything left in his stomach, it would have come back up, but as it was, he only suffered the slight taste of stomach acid. What was he supposed to say? What the fuck was he supposed to say?

“I- I’m so sorry, Dream, I don’t- I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I can’t just  _ say  _ that. It’s too much.”

Dream’s grip on George’s hand tightened, this time much less gently. George made a nearly imperceptible noise of fright, and the hand clenched around his loosened enough that he could once again bear it. “That’s okay,” Dream said, his words tight and protected. “If you’re not ready, I’ll wait.”

“I’m really sorry,” George said. “I’m scared.”

“Let me help you,” Dream said, and the hand at George’s side was suddenly pressed against his face. “Let me ease your fear.” Dream’s lips came closer. George’s line of sight was suddenly filled with him.

When their lips met, he felt… nothing.

He would have powered through if he’d felt revulsion. It was a necessity, and George could fake kissing just as well as anything else. He would have been afraid if he’d wanted it, because that could only lead to more pain. But far more terrifying was the resounding emptiness in his chest as he leaned into the kiss, the absence of a single stray thought pushing him in either direction. 

It was the kind of kiss that grew, the kind that became more than lips- hands everywhere, legs entangling, bodies shifting and twisting around each other frantically. George tasted blood, and he couldn’t tell whose it was. He wasn’t sure it mattered. He was on his back now, leaning up and parting for a split second, gasping for air, clinging to Dream, his hands at the base of Dream’s spine,   
and he felt   
nothing   
at all.

The room was gone. The couch was gone. Dream was gone.

He was gone.

He felt nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote as detailed a kiss as i could stand. i always skip reading the kissing bits in anything, so idk if this is good


	23. George

George ate food when it was given to him. He pretended he was growing more content. He made requests, and every time, Dream granted them. He asked for Sapnap to be allowed to use the empty bedroom next to him. He asked for a promise of free reign of the house. He asked to go outside. 

He talked to Sapnap constantly, carefully avoiding the topic of current-day Dream. Tommy was often a silent observer to these conversations, while Dream was out getting food, doing other things that George couldn’t guess. When Tommy did speak, it was all casual, indifferent statements regarding his surviving family members and friends back in L’Manberg (never Tubbo), or centered around hunting and training and killing zombies. George had to address him directly or leave a hole in the conversation he knew Tommy could fill to get him to contribute. 

Once, Sapnap fell asleep during the middle of one of these conversations, his head in George’s lap. They’d always done this with each other when they were younger. It was a sign that Sapnap still trusted him, both instinctively and intentionally. It gave him hope that he’d be able to pull him out of this eventually, and it gave him an opportunity to get more out of Tommy.

“Why are you with Dream now?” he asked bluntly after he was sure Sapnap was asleep. “You hated him. You blamed him for your brother’s death.”

“I did,” Tommy agreed. “I wouldn’t go that far now. I mean, Wilbur did it all to himself. He was dying long before he lured all those zombies in- he was dying before they came in the first place. I think he was born fucked.”

He was still evading the topic of Dream, and doing an admirable job. He was opening up to George, genuinely, even if it was about the wrong thing. “And what about Dream? Is he dying?”

“Probably,” Tommy said without batting an eye. “Aren’t we all?”

“Dream’s a special case though.” George looked him in the eye. “Isn’t he.”

“You tell me. You’re his oldest friend.”

“I’m willing to bet you know this version of him better than I do.”

“He’s not any different than he was. You just didn’t use to care so much.”

“Look, I need your help with this one,” George said, switching tactics. “Genuinely. I feel like he’s a stranger to me now. Everything’s flipped. He trusts you, he doesn’t trust me. I hate feeling like this, I hate how he doesn’t talk to me like a real person anymore. I miss him.” It was almost all true, which was what made it stick. He felt certain Tommy would, bare minimum, report this back to Dream, improving things ever so slightly. 

“I meant it when I said he isn’t any different, though,” Tommy said. “He relied on you guys a lot. That’s all that changed. I will say, though, I think he’s been going about this the wrong way. That’s all. I guess it’s the only way he knows.”

George couldn’t do anything but stare, dumbfounded, for a moment. 

“I’ll also say that I know you’re putting on an act,” Tommy added. “I just don’t know to what extent.”   
  
“Tommy, I’m not-”

“Less than I’m guessing, I hope,” he continued as if George hadn’t spoken. “But I think we’re really on the same side here- you want to see him get better, don’t you? You want to see him like he was.”

“I do,” George agreed. “Of course.”

“Because, George,” Tommy said, “he is so fucking destroyed. You have no idea.”

So interrogating Tommy had backfired spectacularly, even in its marginal success. Because now George caught himself thinking about Dream in closer and closer to a neutral perspective. Tommy had seemed so genuine. Maybe he was being genuine. Maybe he had never stopped being a person, and maybe Dream hadn’t either.

It was fucking with his head.

He couldn’t tell himself that he wasn’t enjoying having Dream physically close to him anymore. Sure, it made his skin crawl sometimes, but both things could coexist, and did, horribly. It was probably better and worse this way. Better for the charade, and worse for everything else. 

It had gotten to the point that Dream hardly slept in his own room anymore. It was no surprise to George when he came in that night, taking off his jacket, looming over him lying in bed. That godawful almost-smile. It made George want to punch him, it made him want to…

It was almost like old times, really. He was safe here. He was the furthest thing from safe.

“You and Tommy talked today?” Dream asked, sitting down on the opposite side of the bed and kicking off his shoes. 

George’s heart rate swelled in fear, as it usually did whenever he heard Dream’s voice. “Yeah, he was talking about- did something happen to you, Dream? Are you okay?”

“What? No, nothing happened. Pretty uneventful day. Only saw like two zombies on the way back.”   


“Not today,” George said. “Just- ever, I guess. He wasn’t specific about when.”

“I did tell him quite a bit about my old job before the breakout- you remember the internship, right?”

“I remember you dropping off the face of the earth, yeah.” An odd memory popped into George’s head, something he had forgotten entirely until now. “You said afterwards you got a promotion. Full time, you said.”

Which, he realized, didn’t line up with the police investigation at all. If only he’d made that connection sooner.

Dream barked out a laugh, short and bitter. “Forgot I said that. That’s almost funny.” He settled into bed, letting his head rest on his bent arm, his hair dangling close to George’s face. “I didn’t give Tommy too many details. I definitely owe you the story at some point. But it’s one thing to tell some sixteen-year-old kid who’s just almost died about how you almost died, and it’s another to tell… well.” His eyes flicked from their embarrassed position gazing at the opposite wall to look directly at George. “And it’s not exactly a story to tell right before bedtime. You won’t get any sleep.”

The joke was on Dream. George hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in two and a half years. Luckily, in the time Dream had started sleeping next to him, he’d gotten very good at faking it. “If you don’t feel comfortable telling me, you don’t have to,” he said. 

“It’s not like  _ that _ . I mean, it’s a thing that happened, and now it’s over. I can handle it. I’m just concerned it’ll scare you into worrying too much.” He leaned in and planted a soft kiss on George’s forehead, and George shuddered.

“You can’t just leave me hanging like that! Now I really am worried,” he protested.   
  
“You’re right. Like I said, it’s unfair to you. Tomorrow,” Dream said. “I’ll send Tommy out instead. I’ll probably tell Sapnap too- he’s been with me as long as you have. I’m even more worried about his reaction, honestly. He’s-”

_ Really easy for you to manipulate?  _ George thought. “Yeah, I get what you mean,” he said. “But you’d be right to include him.”

Tomorrow,” Dream repeated himself. “I promise. Get some sleep.” He found George’s hand under the covers and squeezed it. “I love you.”

All he could do was yawn and stare back up at Dream for a few moments before closing his eyes. He was still entirely unable to say it back, real or fake, either way.


	24. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short filler chapter from Dream's perspective. he sounds almost normal, doesn't he? don't get used to it.

He told them a lot of what he told Tommy, minus the backstory they already knew, and with the exception of the fact that he still had four more doses back in the lab and he’d given Tommy the fifth. He didn’t know if they’d want it, and he certainly didn’t want them to have it. He didn’t make a point of showing them the scar, either- they’d both already seen it, of course. 

It was something like relief, probably, or it was the hole where relief was supposed to go, and he could fill in the blanks. He was glad the feeling was still hollow, and his gladness was hollow too, all of it was safe. He didn’t want it to be unsafe. The minute he started recovering emotionally, he’d probably end up finishing the job, and that would be a fucking waste.

“You mentioned that you didn’t know where any of your symptoms came from,” Sapnap said. “What else happened to you?”

Right. Because his friends weren’t idiots. That was why he’d become friends with them in the first place. 

He couldn’t even stand the idea of telling Tommy about it. How was he going to tell George and Sapnap? The thought of it made his skin crawl. (Although, so did everything else.) And yet, like all big stupid secrets, it ached to be told.

Dream felt so far removed from the idea of being a real person, but he couldn’t shed this stupid dependence on his friends. Sometimes he hated them. Sometimes he didn’t.

“We’ll take a road trip today,” he said. “How much do you remember of what I was telling you at the time about my old job there?”

“At the time? Not a lot,” George said. “You were pretty excited about it at first. I looked up the company when you got the internship. Same one with the lab in California that started the outbreak. I made the connection, but I guess I never considered it important.”

“You were acting a lot different right before you disappeared,” Sapnap said. “You were always complaining about your back hurting. I forgot all about it until now, actually.”

“Right,” Dream agreed, as if he remembered it too. “How long did that last?”

“God, I don’t know. Months. George said you were baiting him to offer a backrub, and you denied it. That was like, February.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right,” George agreed. “I do remember that.”

That pushed the timetable way further back than Dream had previously guessed. He was torn- he wanted to see how much his friends remembered from back then in order to fill in the blanks for himself, but he didn’t want them to guess that he had almost no memory of any of it, outside of the ever-increasing fear and paranoia he’d been feeling at the time. He’d embellished the truth to Tommy, implied that he’d been living his life as normal, but in truth he had absolutely no idea.

“Let’s get going,” he said. “It’s a long road to hell.”


	25. George

He ended up nearly sitting on Dream’s lap since the van only had two front seats. As a result, for the entire ride he could scarcely focus on anything but his own breathing. 

Sapnap was talking, and Dream was talking, and George was doing nothing but leaning against his shoulder and sending his mind far, far away from the van. He was losing this battle. He had to start doing better than this. He had to learn to separate his feelings and actions.

He fell asleep at some point, and woke right around when the van jolted to a stop. He probably should have tried to keep himself awake in order to pay attention to which way they’d gone, so he could get some idea of how to navigate the area, of how to get back to town. But it was all feeling more and more pointless.

Dream opened the door and let George get out first, and he surveyed the area. “I hate to state the obvious here,” George said, “but I don’t see any laboratory. Are we in the right place?”

“Sure we are,” Sapnap said, pointing to a wooden shed with peeling green paint and a door hanging at an odd angle. It wasn’t big enough to fit anything more than a couple bicycles. “That’s someone’s meth lab, I bet.”

Dream disregarded them and waded through the weeds towards the shed. They’d come from a dirt path and stopped at a paved parking lot, the asphalt cracked and nearly as full of weeds as the grass. There was no need for such a big parking lot in the middle of nowhere, but it was the type of thing to only look suspicious if you stopped to really think about it. “Come on, guys.”

Dream swung open the very broken door, ducking beneath the doorframe. George followed him, pretending he didn’t care that he didn’t have to duck as well. The floor inside was straw and dirt, and Dream kicked some of it aside, opening a hatch on the floor that revealed a very tight spiral staircase.

“You worked here?” Sapnap asked in disgust as Dream began lowering himself into the opening.

“Not all the time,” Dream said. “This isn’t the normal entrance. There’s an underground passageway here from the other building over the hill, the one people know about. I worked there most of the time. They would send me down here on occasion, where they kept the real shit. And it’s where they trapped me.”

It wasn’t cold, but George shivered. “Maybe we shouldn’t go,” he said. “If that was me, I wouldn’t ever want to see that place again. It would be awful.”

Dream said nothing, but continued down, sticking out a hand and motioning for them to follow him.

George went first, not wanting to make Sapnap go down there without him. He was doing all of this for Sapnap, he reminded himself. Dream was bad. Dream was evil. Dream was hurting them.

Dream was very, very hurt.

The main fluorescent lights on the ceiling were off, so the room they were in was only lit by what George recognized as the same kind of emergency lights they put in schools when the power went out, connected to backup generators. Just bright enough to see where to go through the windowless hallways. They’d only come on twice when he was in school, and both times he’d ended up stepping in a sauce packet in the lunchroom. Both times it was barbecue sauce. He scanned the floor for sauce packets, lost in the memory, before he realized how stupid that was.

He saw a glass case with a rack of vials inside. Two of the six slots on the rack were empty. Four vials of glistening liquid with no labels to identify them remained. George didn't ask Dream about them, but his imagination ran wild. Two vials missing. Did that mean anything?

He was irrationally tempted to slip one in his pocket. What was wrong with him? 

“These are bloodstains,” Sapnap said, standing at a countertop on the left side of the room. “Fairly recent ones.” George pulled himself away from the case and came over to look at what he was talking about. The rusty brown stains ran down the side of the counter, and much lighter bloody footsteps led over to the corner.

“Yeah, this is where I brought Tommy when he was dying,” Dream said. “It was the closest place I could think of that had the medical supplies I needed to save him. I didn’t come back to clean it up, because I figured no one gave a shit.”

There was definitely still something Dream wasn’t telling him, but George wasn’t worried about that now. He was thinking of something else. “You said there were, like, bodies down here,” he said. “Of all the scientists.”   


“That’d be down two floors,” Dream said. “I haven’t been down there since, and no one else knows about this place. The circulation’s probably shit, but it’s been two years, there won’t be anything but skeletons left.”

“We don’t have to see it if you don’t want to,” he said quickly. “I was just thinking out loud.”

Dream didn’t look as if he wanted to, but he said, “It won’t bother me.”

If George got him down there, facing the holding cell where he’d been trapped and tortured, would Dream do anything? Would he freak out? Would he show any kind of emotion? Or was he telling the truth, would it really not bother him? 

“Maybe it’ll jog some memories,” Sapnap suggested innocently, probably not even realizing what he was saying.

“What did you say?” There was an edge to Dream’s voice, and Sapnap shrunk back, his hand grasping unconsciously for George. George took his hand and stood in front of Sapnap protectively.    


“I- I’m sorry,” Sapnap stammered, “I was just- I was just saying, because you were asking about what happened earlier, that’s all, I thought you were having trouble and I figured it could help, I didn’t mean-” He pressed his face into George’s shoulder miserably. 

“I don’t need help remembering,” Dream said in a way that made George think he very much did.

George definitely needed to get him down there. Something would happen if he did, he felt sure of it. “I think I want to see,” he said. “You don’t have to come, though. I can just take Sapnap.”

“I’m coming,” Dream said, making a visible effort to compose himself. “I’m not letting either of you go down there without me.”

He wrenched open the door to the staircase with an uncontrolled ferocity, and George grabbed it behind him. The door was much heavier than he expected, and he had to put an embarrassing amount of effort into holding it open for Sapnap. 

They followed Dream down two flights of stairs before they all stopped at the door. Dream stood frozen in front of it, clearly reluctant to continue, blocking the way for George to open it instead. “Dream, are you okay?” Sapnap asked.

“Don’t,” Dream said warningly, silencing Sapnap again. He pushed the door open, but they only got a few steps in before he stopped moving again.

Their entrance had stirred up a thick layer of dust on the floor. There was only one thing that could have created all that dust, and now it was in the air George was breathing. He closed his eyes and told himself it didn’t matter. “Dream?” he asked. “Something’s wrong.”   
  
“Dream, if this is too hard for you…”

“No, look.” Dream pointed at the floor, switching on his flashlight. “I haven’t been down here in two and a half years,” he said. “I returned to the top floor a few times, but I never came down here. It was clean when I left it.”

There were footprints in the dust. They weren’t fresh, they were only barely visible, and George probably wouldn’t have noticed them if Dream hadn’t pointed them out, but they were there.

“Someone’s been here,” George realized. “Someone that wasn’t you.”

Dream nodded. “And I have no idea what they saw.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two missing vials instead of one. old footsteps in the basement. can't be that important, i doubt it'll come up again. no chance.
> 
> as for why dream never found the missing vial suspect, he doesn't have the greatest memory of the lab's inventory pre-apocalypse, understandably. he assumed it was like that before. he had no reason to think anyone else would have come to the lab until now, because no one left alive knew about it. or so he thinks.
> 
> who took it? hmm idk what do you guys think


	26. Quackity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he's got big plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dsmp quackity is an interesting character. he's obviously shown signs of being a power hungry, schlatt-type figure, and he's also someone who cares about the friends he's made and wants them to be safe. while i'm sitting around waiting for that big smp lore return stream he promised, i decided i'd try to take on those conflicting aspects of his personality on my own.  
> we're doing another chapter where i name drop a bunch of smp members so you can see what they're up to, just little slices of lore and stuff. i couldn't get everyone, i'm sorry if your fave is missing but this is all i have to offer you
> 
> tw for drug mentions  
> also, it's the apocalypse. realistically, someone's got a marijuana farm. i decided not to canonize the camarvan or the drug cartel because it just didn't work, so i gave the honor of being the town's resident drug dealer to mr. eatspants, because i thought it would be funny and i can't imagine him doing anything else in the apocalypse. this was mainly because of that party he threw where tubbo overdosed on cocaine.

Tubbo was falling into a depression. It was easy to see, and even easier to understand. The more time passed with no word from Tommy, the less likely it seemed that Tommy could possibly have survived. No one but Tubbo had believed that Tommy would survive and return in the first place, and now that belief was crumbling as he was forced to face reality.

How was Quackity supposed to comfort a grieving child who was also his leader? He didn’t know, but he felt like shit about it. He was barely keeping Karl going. Karl missed Sapnap so much that it was killing him, and Quackity knew he wasn’t good enough to convince his boyfriend to stay forever. He’d dealt with that as best as he could.

The other kids were going through the motions. Niki had never been the same with Wilbur gone. Tommy’s family stayed distant and disinterested, and everyone else minded their own business. So yeah, morale in L’Manburg was low.

They needed Dream, they needed Wilbur or Schlatt, they needed something. They needed a leader. A seventeen-year-old in mourning was not a leader. Someone had to fill Dream’s shoes.

Quackity was already shouldering all of L’Manburg’s diplomatic duties. In Dream’s absence, no one else was bothering to check up on people and see if they were even still alive. There was a power vacuum waiting for someone to fill it, and somehow, no one seemed interested. Probably because the two people that would be the most interested were dead now. 

Well, Quackity had fought under Wilbur and ruled under Schlatt. He was a fast talker and just as quick on his feet. He had what it took, Schlatt had frequently told him. And he had a catalogue of past mistakes he knew to avoid, lessons he’d learned from watching the two previous leaders of L’Manburg crash and burn. He could fix this. He could get things back to the way they used to be, just like Karl wanted. Even if he couldn’t get Sapnap back, he could do this.

“Seems alright to me,” Bad said when Quackity pitched his new idea. “As long as you understand our support is retractable at any time.”

“Wouldn’t expect otherwise,” Quackity said. “I don’t want a war, or a country, or a government. I want communication and a system that gets everyone fed and supplied like we had at the beginning. I want people to trust each other again and be friendly, even if they can’t be friends. That’s it.”

“Dream and Schlatt and Wilbur broke that trust for all of us,” Sam observed. Even though Bad seemed to be the leader of his group, Sam spoke up just as often, and Bad seemed to defer to him equally when he did. “But if you manage to earn my trust, I’m happy to offer my skills, within reason.”

Sam’s skillset was the most valuable of anyone’s, Quackity knew. He would make an effort to stay on Sam’s good side as much as possible. Bad’s too, of course. Because Bad was becoming someone different since he started the Badlands. More like Dream. More like Schlatt. 

More like Quackity.

“You’ve got my interest,” Punz said noncommittally. “I’m not gonna be working against you, I can promise you that. I’d love to see this place back to how it was in the beginning. I’m just not sure how possible it is.”

“I’m not sure either,” Quackity admitted. “But I’m going to try.”

“Hmm, what do you think, Ponk?” Purpled asked, hands folded together like a supervillain across his desk. If it weren’t for his babyish face, Quackity could picture him in a suit and tie, maybe a little white cat perched on his shoulder.

“Personally, I trust him,” Ponk said, leaning back on the two back legs of his chair with his feet up on the desk, focusing mostly on not falling down. “Q is nice.”   
  
“Yeah. We’ll go with a solid maybe. Depends what you’re paying. Come back when you’ve got details.” Purpled returned his attention to the book he’d been reading, waving at Quackity dismissively.

Maybe it was stupid, but he almost envied them. The only kids Wilbur hadn’t gotten to.

“Fuck off,” Techno said.

“I’d be happy to help you in any way I can, Quackity,” Phil said, attempting to ignore his son. “Just let me know.”

“Get out of here.”

“Techno, be nice,” Phil scolded. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”   
  
“His country killed my brother.”

“Wilbur killed himself,” Quackity said.   
  
Techno took a long swig of whatever was in his bottle. Probably just water, but he was so damn inscrutable that Quackity couldn’t be sure. “Not Wilbur,” he said. 

“That wasn’t-”

“Get out.”

He left.

He didn’t bother with diplomacy with Jack Manifold or Connoreatspants, for two very different reasons. Jack hated anything to do with L’Manburg and would spit in the face of anyone involved with it who dared approach him. He’d become impossible to interact with. Connor, on the other hand, very politely did not give a shit about anything political. He thought it was dumb. He refused to pay attention and pretended not to know anything about any of it.

Quackity didn’t even bother trying to speak to Jack. If it came to it, he’d get someone unaffiliated with L’Manburg to talk to him. But he did make a point of explaining what he was planning to Connor.

Connor had taken after Niki and Techno, starting his own garden, but he wasn’t growing any vegetables. He did, however, bestow on anyone who was interested a steady supply of his own homegrown coping mechanism. He always said he had more than enough weed to go round. 

“I’m trying to pick up where Dream left off and get everyone working together again,” Quackity explained to Connor. “You don’t have to do anything differently. Just thought I’d let you know.”

“Mm,” Connor said and offered him the blunt he was holding.   
  
“Not today. Got shit to do. I wanna get this place back to how it was before all the wars and everything.”

“What wars?” 

“Dude, you are not that fucking oblivious.”

Connor laughed. “Okay, real talk though? That’d be nice. If you could fix everyone’s shit. I’d like that.”

“More people should be like you, Connor.” They might all be dead if that was the case, but Quackity thought they’d make much happier zombies.

  
  
“Of course you’ve got my support, man,” Eret said. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Big Q.” They’d probably picked up that nickname from the kids. Eret was always hanging out with the kids, babysitting or whatever. 

“What do you want, Eret?” Quackity asked, because he was never sure of their intentions. He still remembered their betrayal, even if that was water under the bridge by now. 

“I just want the kids to never have to fight a war again,” Eret said. 

“And what about you? Could you fight in another war?”

“What are you asking me, Quackity?”

Quackity didn’t know what he was asking. “Forget about it, Eret. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Eret said carefully, their eyes narrowing as they watched him go.

“Yes,” Puffy said. “Yes, absolutely. Whatever you need, duckling. I…” She took a deep breath. “I’m tired of the violence in this place. I can’t stand it anymore. Look what it’s done to all of you.”

“Duckling?” Quackity asked. That was a new one. He supposed he understood the correlation, but he hadn’t expected Puffy to give him a nickname. They weren’t close.

Puffy opened her mouth to respond, but stopped when Niki entered the room. Niki's hand came to rest affectionately on Puffy’s shoulder as she leaned forward and held out a bouquet of flowers. “Q, take a flower." Quackity took one. He couldn’t identify any flowers besides plain roses and tulips, but he thought the wide, soft pink blooms looked nice enough. 

He looked up at Niki, at the anxious expression on her face. They’d been around the same age at the beginning and became tentative friends. Under Schlatt, he did everything he could to defend her without compromising his own position. They weren’t kids anymore, but Quackity still felt the rage and confusion of a child all the time, and he thought maybe Niki, out of anyone, would understand, would feel the same way.

“I heard what you were telling Puffy,” she said. “Q, you’ve got to talk to Tubbo and the kids.”

The kids. Because they weren’t kids anymore. They couldn’t include themselves in that number. They had no excuse.

“I’ll talk to him,” Quackity said. “He’s next. I’ll call a- a cabinet meeting or whatever.”

“I’m on your side, Quackity,” Niki said softly. “No matter what.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> important stuff: jack is 18. he was a part of l'manburg at 15 and 16. another child soldier. that's why he hates them all.  
> while quackity doesn't consider himself a child now, he knows he was when wilbur first began l'manburg, even if he didn't think so at the time. i looked on the smp wiki and it says ponk is 20, meaning he was 17 or 18 at the beginning. so he and purpled really are the only two kids to escape wilbur's influence.
> 
> also. niki and puffy are living together in a cute domestic cottage and growing food and flowers. they are very close and love each other. are they a couple? idk, it's not relevant to the plot but you can imagine they are if you want. same goes for bad and skeppy except i don't think i've even mentioned skeppy yet lol. idk if i will tbh, he'd be a bit like connor but without the drugs, just doesn't care about what's happening
> 
> i kind of like the idea that relationship wise in the apocalypse, everyone's just vibing, not bothered about boring things like monogamy or making things official, as long as people aren't hiding shit from each other. a lot of the societal expectations of love are gone. that's the one good thing the zombies let happen.


	27. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an ultimatum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is so late lmao. not a day goes by when i don't curse myself for creating this arbitrary goal of posting a chapter a day, but today is not the day i break free from this cage i've put myself in. here u go xoxo

They were back to training.

George and Sapnap were both in awful shape. All that remained of any previous physical prowess they’d had was muscle memory. Rebuilding strength meant eating food, training every day, and feeling exhausted, mentally and physically, every morning. None of that was new to George. He’d been doing this for two and a half years. He could handle it. Before Enermic, recovering from starvation and getting back in shape would have been a much more arduous process, so George supposed he should be thankful. 

Besides, he reasoned, if he regained his physical health, he’d be able to think more clearly, and hopefully so would Sapnap. Never mind that Tommy was in perfect physical condition, minus an eye, and didn’t seem any less brainwashed.

George began to learn the extent of Tommy’s newfound strength when they began training. After a full day of Tommy throwing him and Sapnap to the ground with little effort, Sapnap recounted a story of his first skirmish with Tommy. “He’s freakishly strong now,” he told George. “He fights way different. He fights like Dream.”

“I’m noticing,” George groaned. He was sure he’d wake up to his back and arms littered with bruises the next morning.

Tommy went easier on them after that, becoming more of a teacher. He still wasn’t saying a whole lot, despite George’s efforts. He would speak almost solely about training. It was driving George mad. At least Sapnap was talking to him, even if nearly everything he said made George want to try stabbing Dream again.

(He wasn’t going to.)

And things with Dream, of course, were still awful. It wasn’t worth dwelling on.

But there was one glaringly obvious problem that George had desperately been trying to rationalize away. One thing he was completely unprepared to deal with. He couldn’t get anything out of Tommy and he didn’t dare bring it up with Dream, so he waited until he was alone with Sapnap, which almost never happened.

“The fighting techniques Tommy’s been teaching us,” George started.   
  
“Yeah,” Sapnap said excitedly. “We almost stand a chance against him when we’re sparring now.”

“Maybe you do.” George knew he was well behind Sapnap. He was unfocused and anxious in training, but it didn’t matter, he didn’t care. “It’s just, that’s not how you fight zombies.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sapnap, I’m not an idiot.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot, George. Between us, I’m definitely the idiot.” Sapnap let his head come to rest on George’s shoulder as he often did nowadays, even more frequently than he’d ever done before. As frustrated as he was right now, George wrapped his arm around him. He wasn’t about to deny Sapnap physical affection when he’d sworn to save him.

“Those aren’t zombie fighting techniques, Sapnap. Tommy’s teaching us how to take hits, how to knock people unconscious. That shit’s useless and we both know it, unless we’re going against people.”

“George-”

“Don’t you think there’s something wrong with that? Why would we want to hurt anybody else? Wilbur’s dead, no one else is a threat!”  _ No one except Dream. _

“George, I-” Sapnap swallowed. “Oh, fuck. I can’t do this. Dream said not to talk to you about it, said you’d be mad, but I can’t act for shit.”

“I won’t tell on you,” George said reassuringly. “I’m on your side, Sapnap. Always. You don’t have to do what Dream tells you all the time, you know- not when you’re around me.”

“But what if he finds out?” Sapnap’s eyes darted around the room in suspicion, as if Dream might be behind the corner. 

“Neither of them are here right now,” George promised. “We can speak freely.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Sapnap took a deep breath, his hand fidgeting nervously at his side. “We’re going back to town.”

George had gathered that much, from Sapnap’s reaction when he’d mentioned leaving on his first day out of his room. “Right, and what are we going back for?”

“Dream wants-” Sapnap buried his head into George’s sweatshirt. “Fuck. Dream wants- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“You can do it.” George reached out with his other arm and took Sapnap’s twitching hand, which stilled at his touch. “Sapnap, you can trust me completely. I promise. I’m here for you, I don’t care about anything else.” It was true. Ruling out Dream, Sapnap was all he had left. 

“He wants to get rid of L’Manburg,” Sapnap blurted. “Oh, thank god. George, he wants to get rid of Techno, and he wants to get rid of L’Manburg.”

George had no idea what Dream had against Techno, but he was much more confident in Techno’s ability to survive than L’Manburg’s. “Sapnap, do you want that to happen?”

“L’Manburg is our enemy,” Sapnap said quietly. “They’ve always been.”

“ _ Wilbur  _ has always been our enemy. Who’s left in L’Manburg now? Your boyfriends and a bunch of kids, that’s who.”

“And Niki and Eret,” Sapnap mumbled. 

“And did they do anything wrong? No. Niki keeps everyone fed and Eret helped us before. This is wrong. You know it.”

“I know it’s wrong, I do, but George, please.” Sapnap’s eyes were beginning to water. “You can’t be right. I know you’re right, but you can’t be. I can’t do this.”

“You can,” George said. “You can do it.”

“I can’t,” Sapnap said, “I love him.”

George recoiled. “Oh.”

“No, no, not like that.” The tension had briefly shattered, and George was sure he was as furiously red in the face as Sapnap was right now. “Fuck’s sake. You know what I meant.”

“Of course I do.” He couldn’t blame Sapnap for any of this. “I feel the same way. We’ve known him for so long. It’s impossible. It sucks. Everything’s a mess.” Sapnap nodded along, wiping a tear from his face. “But none of that matters, because I’m here for you, Sapnap. I care about you. That’s all I want, is for you to be safe. This isn’t safe, is it?”

“I’m safe now,” Sapnap said, curling up against him.

Was it so wrong to just live like this? Was it so selfish to just give in? Sapnap wasn’t safe here, George knew. He was miserable, even if he didn’t seem to know it. But if they could be happy again, all three of them together…

He was going mad. “No, you’re not,” George said. “I can’t keep you safe by myself. I’m not strong enough. And I know you don’t hate L’Manburg. You know who’s in charge of L’Manburg right now? Tubbo. A literal child. Are we going to be killing children, now?”

“No no no, Dream said we wouldn’t kill the kids!”

“So who did he say you would be killing?”

Sapnap turned away, shame evident in his reddening cheeks. “Fuck.”

“You don’t want to kill anyone,” George said. “I know you don’t. You didn’t even want Wilbur dead. Or Schlatt, for that matter.”

“So what if I don’t want to kill anyone. Dream won’t make me do it if I don’t want to. He’ll take care of it. He doesn’t mind it.”

“Sapnap,” George said.

“What?”

“If Dream wanted to kill people.” George pulled Sapnap back towards him. “If he wanted to hurt L’Manburg, hurt the kids and hurt your friends, and I wanted you to come with me and get away from him, what would you do? Who would you go with?”

“I would-” Sapnap stopped. “I would-” He was shivering in George’s arms, even though it wasn’t cold in the house. “No, George, please.”

“You don’t have to answer that yet,” George said. “But I told you that I’m on your side, and that’s the absolute truth. I want you safe and happy. This isn’t happy. Do you trust me?”

“I do,” Sapnap sniffed. “Always. But I can’t do this yet, George. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” George dropped his voice to a whisper as he heard the front door open. Sapnap furiously mopped at his eyes with the oversized sleeves of George’s sweatshirt. “I’ll wait for you.”

Dream stalked into the house, Tommy on his heels. He wore his tactical zombie-fighting gear and a dazzling smile, and Tommy was as expressionless as ever. Sapnap sat up, still bleary-eyed, and blinked rapidly, probably trying to dispel the lingering tears in his eyes. 

“We’re moving,” Dream declared. spreading his arms wide.

“What?” George looked up at Dream and Tommy. They both had backpacks slung over their shoulders. Dream twirled the van keyring around his finger impatiently. “What do you mean we’re moving?”

“We’re going back to town. Today’s the day. Tommy and I already have a house set up. I’ve got the backseat set up in the van so it won’t be the two of you rolling around back there. Bring anything you don’t want to leave behind, we’re headed out in an hour or two.”

“What, I can’t have shotgun?” George asked. He didn’t want to sit beside Dream, but the words came flying out of his mouth anyway.

Dream grinned. “Of course you can.”

He sat beside Dream for the entire ride.

They made pleasant conversation, and all the while George felt sick to his stomach. He knew he wouldn’t be able to eat the next morning. He felt as if he might never be able to eat again.

He didn’t watch the road. What was the point? He didn’t check behind him to see if Sapnap was doing okay. Nothing but silence came from the back of the truck. He wished he could communicate to Sapnap that he hadn’t intended to abandon him.

“Aren’t you excited to be going back home?” Dream asked.

“Of course I am,” George said. “I’ve missed it so much.” Dream’s mouth widened in a cruel grin.

The lights of town approached quickly. They drove through the border marked by what remained of Wilbur’s grand walls, now long-toppled and dismantled, left to rot. Something else was rotting too, in the back of George’s mind.

He returned Dream’s grin, and felt nothing but dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are now approaching the first scene i ever conceived in this entire story. i still have yet to write it, but i've been picturing it in my head for two months now, which means it's gonna end up shit once i finally do write it. 
> 
> next up is a sapnap chapter. it will probably hurt.


	28. Sapnap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pain. agony, even.

They each got their own rooms. Sapnap was relieved to be shown into a room that wasn’t a creepy dark basement, but a regular, well-lit bedroom. He collapsed into bed, ready to fall asleep and be done with it. It had been a stressful day. He was being pulled in two different directions and had no idea what he was supposed to do about any of it.

On one hand, George was right. Sapnap knew it, deep down. He hadn’t forgotten everything that had happened. But doing the right thing was so difficult, especially when Dream…

Dream…

There was a knock on the door, and Sapnap knew it was Dream. “Come in,” he got out, nearly choking on the words, his head filled with panicked thoughts, drafting up desperate apologies. Dream knew he’d fucked up, he was going to be so mad, Sapnap was going to get hurt again after he’d gone so long without it.

He should have done more to shut George down. George had always been a bit of a pushover where Sapnap was involved, especially recently. He curled in on himself, holding back tears, aware his posture was a clear admission of guilt. He couldn’t do anything about it.

That was how Dream found him, shaking and miserable as always. He saw Dream paused in the doorway, his expression dropping from content to concerned. “Sapnap, what’s wrong?”

Sapnap stared at him, the terror he felt surely evident on his face. He didn’t know how to respond. He wanted George, but George wouldn’t be intervening if Dream didn’t want him to. He watched as Dream slowly stepped through the doorway and closed the door, sealing them both inside the room. Alone. Together.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please. I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a truly pathetic whimpering sound. He hated himself so much for this. He’d become such a stupid little baby. He had to get it together. What had George told him? The conversation they’d had that afternoon was already slipping from his mind, replaced by the fear. It was all fear.

“Hey,” Dream said, his voice softening. “I’ll be much less upset if you just tell me, Sapnap.”

“George knows,” Sapnap said. Words fell uncontrollably from his mouth for the second time in two days. He couldn’t keep a secret for shit, he didn’t know why people kept entrusting him with them. “I told him about the stuff you said, about going after L’Manburg and all them, he asked and I couldn’t stop myself. It all just came pouring out. I’m sorry.”

He flinched at the slightest movement from Dream, expecting another gut-wrenching, rib-breaking punch, expecting to open his eyes and find himself on the floor, his arm limp and twisted and useless at his side, but Dream only smiled. “And what did he say?”

“He wasn’t happy. Like you said he wouldn’t be. He was afraid you’d hurt the kids. I told him you weren’t going to kill any of them, but he didn’t seem to care.”

“Hmm. Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?”

“I’ll deal with it,” Dream said. 

“You  _ promised _ .” Sapnap knew full well that reminding Dream of their deal would most likely result in him getting hit again, but he didn’t care. He did it anyway.

“Sapnap,” Dream said, “I told you, I’d never hurt George. I love him.”

“Don’t you love me?” 

There was a long silence before Dream spoke again. “Of course I do.”

_ Then why do you keep hurting me? _

George must have been getting to his head. He couldn’t keep thinking these types of things. It would only lead to him getting hurt more. Sapnap was so tired of everything scaring him, so scared of being this tired forever.

“It’s just- Karl and Quackity,” he said. He’d tried to push them from his mind as much as he could. It was for the best, he and Dream had agreed. They wouldn’t understand. They would never ally themselves with Dream, Quackity especially. Sapnap and Dream had been friends for much longer than Sapnap had known either of his boyfriends, so he’d have to let them go. It was okay, he told himself. They’d be better off with each other, without him, anyway. 

That didn’t mean he ever wanted to see them hurt, especially not at the hands of Dream.

“I know it’s scary.” Dream’s honeyed voice dripped with sympathy. “I’d be worried too, if I were you. But you trust me, right?”

“I do,” Sapnap said. How could he let himself trust both Dream and George, when they were at odds like this? What was he getting himself into? 

“Then you’ll have to be brave for me.” Dream’s hand rested on Sapnap’s shoulder, and Sapnap flinched but didn’t dare push him off. Dream wasn’t hurting him, he told himself. It was fine. “Do you think you can do it? Do you think you’re strong enough?”

“Strong enough for what?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“Strong enough to see them again and have them knowing that you’re against them now,” Dream said. “If you’re not, we’ll have to figure something out. I’ll work with you. But I really think you can do it, Sapnap. I think you’re strong enough. I believe in you.”

“I can do it,” Sapnap said with much more confidence than he felt. “I  _ am  _ strong enough.” It was almost like he was protecting them, really. If he kept them away from Dream, they wouldn’t get hurt. Maybe Dream wouldn’t hurt them if he had Sapnap to hurt instead. 

“I know you can. You were strong enough to tell me about what you talked to George about yesterday. That was good,” Dream said. “You don’t have anything to worry about from that now.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” Dream said. “Water under the bridge.” 

That was comforting. Water under the bridge. Sapnap hadn’t expected Dream to react so well to what he’d told George. But why wouldn’t he, if they loved each other? 

“You can be brave, Sapnap,” Dream said. “You can be strong. It’s coming soon, and I know you’ll be able to get through it. I know I can trust you.”

“What’s coming soon?” Sapnap stopped himself, realizing his mistake. “No, you shouldn’t tell me. I can’t keep my fucking mouth shut. I’m sorry I asked.” 

“It’s alright. It’s past time I had this conversation with George anyway. I’ll tell him everything I’ve told you.”

Sapnap nodded numbly, thinking of other ways to apologize, just in case.

“And as for what’s coming,” Dream continued, “It’s time for L’Manburg to finally end. I’ll be sending a message to Tubbo tomorrow, telling him to meet us at the community house. We’ll take care of things then. I expect he’ll bring Quackity at the very least. Do you think you’ll be prepared for that?”

He wouldn’t be, but he had to be. This was how he’d make it up to Dream, he decided. 

“Of course,” he said. “I won’t let you down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> george works hard, but dream works harder. 
> 
> i'm thinking of just skipping the conversation between dream and george because i feel like it'll be fairly predictable and boring to write. i'm sick of all the one-on-one conversation chapters. i wanna get to the good shit.
> 
> tomorrow we'll hear more from quackity, because i am a quackity supremacist. after that you will get to see how everyone in town reacts to tommy's return! finally some decent protege innit food! god the buildup has been endless. doesn't help that i write such short chapters, so it took almost thirty chapters to get here. i can't even imagine the final word count on this thing. it probably won't be that unusual for a finished fic, but i've never gotten this far on a writing project ever in my life so it is special to me :)


	29. Correspondence #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tired of writing filler. basically, george writes a letter to quackity and sneaks out to deliver it to him so he can warn him about what's coming. 
> 
> you'll notice it says correspondence #1. that's because there are more letters to come. george and quackity pen pal arc?

_ Q, _

_ I’m probably losing my mind. I’m sorry if this is completely incoherent. I have no idea what you guys think of me and Sapnap disappearing, but it wasn’t voluntary. I don’t know what you’ve seen or heard from Dream in the meantime, if anything. Sap and I have been out of the loop for a while. _

_ Tommy’s not dead. He’s helping Dream. Believe that or not, I don’t care, but it’s true. Sapnap is too, but it’s not his fault, I’ve been trying to help him. Shit’s kind of hit the fan here. Sapnap didn’t want to leave you guys either. He fought for a while. I think it’s kinda like Stockholm syndrome or something. _

_ Anyway. Dream’s insane. You already knew that. He’s got some plan to destroy L'Manburg, and he’s not telling me what it is, Sapnap didn’t know any details and if Tommy knows he’s not snitching. Dream’s planning some grand comeback entrance tomorrow to flex his power and influence or some shit. He's going to send Tubbo a message to meet him at the community house. I think he plans to fight you guys, eventually if not tomorrow, and I wish I could say I thought he’d hold back enough not to kill people. But I can’t say that with any confidence anymore. _

_ Basically, if you see me acting like a stupid whore, just know I’m not with him. Not right now. But refer back to the first line of this letter- I genuinely do not know how much more of this shit I can fucking take. Sapnap lost it- Tommy lost it- I’m not any better than them. I’ll try my best to help you guys if I can, but I have no idea what’s coming. _

_ Don’t tell Tubbo about me for now. He can’t lie. Same goes for Karl, but there’s no reason he should know in the first place. I think Bad and all them are okay, if they get themselves involved. I don’t know if they will for this one. God, I hope they don’t side with Dream. Show Bad this if necessary. _

_ That’s all I got. Depending on how things go I’ll write again or talk to you in person, I don’t know. I also might die. I feel like someone’s going to die at some point, and it’ll probably be me. If that happens, please try to get Sap away from Dream for me. That’s all I really care about. _

_ George _


	30. Quackity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> your fave is problematic.

Once upon a time, Sapnap and Quackity were on opposite sides of a battlefield and couldn’t talk to each other in person, couldn’t be seen together. Wilbur would have been furious, Dream would… probably not have cared that much, at the time. But it was still a very real danger if they were found out. So they carried out a secret correspondence, writing letters and leaving them in the long-unused mailboxes in front of their respective homes, delivering messages in secret in the dead of night. Each morning that Quackity had woken to a new letter from Sapnap, he found the energy within himself to go on. They had Karl in common, and they were beginning, embarrassingly, to fall for each other too, which had been a confusing mess, but Sapnap had kept him sane during the war, and Quackity could never repay him enough.   
  
So when he saw the raised flag of the beaten-up metal mailbox in front of his and Karl’s house that morning, he was filled with something like hope for the first time in weeks. He ran to the mailbox, heart racing, almost tearing the letter in half in his excitement. 

He had to read it three times to get it. His first read through, he couldn’t think anything except that this letter was not written by Sapnap, so what was the fucking point? By the second read he’d gotten the gist of it, but it didn’t sink in until he read it the third time, and that was when the fear hit.    


L’Manburg was in danger, Tubbo and Karl were in danger, and Sapnap was in terrible, terrible danger. That was the situation he was working with. An absolute worst-case-scenario. His and Karl’s worst nightmares come true, and he was completely unprepared.

Quackity was perfectly willing to go head-to-head against Dream in an argument, but he was fully unequipped if things went south. He wasn’t a fighter, he was a runner. He’d need backup. The Badlands had the manpower and discipline to stand a chance against Dream, and Techno was seemingly unkillable and had a vendetta against Dream, so he might be willing to form some sort of temporary hate-alliance. Who else would fight? Eret? Puffy? Would they be up for it?

The Badlands first. It was early, but Bad would certainly be up. Quackity hoped he could trust Bad to be against this, against Dream. Bad had never taken sides in the conflict between Dream and L’Manburg, watching the whole thing in disgust. He hated the idea of infighting. But Bad had changed. He was a little less of a pacifist now.

Skeppy was the one to answer the door when Quackity rang. “Mm? What’s up, Q?” He was wearing blue pajama bottoms and holding a toothbrush, his mouth full of foam. Quackity had no goddamn idea how he’d survived the apocalypse before Dream brought everyone together.

“I need to talk to Bad,” he said. “It’s important.”

“Baaad!” Skeppy called behind him.

“No need to yell, muffinhead, I’m right here.” Bad’s cheerful tone dropped abruptly when he saw Quackity. “I’ve never seen you up so early, Quackity, what’s wrong?”

“Bad, can I trust you?” Quackity asked. “How do you feel about Dream?” Skeppy, sensing the situation had become serious, gave a mock-salute and took his leave. Bad’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s the whole reason Sam and Ant and I got together,” he said. “He’s been gone for a few months now, right? I say good riddance. He was becoming way too unreliable, too unstable.”

Wordlessly, Quackity handed him the letter.

Bad scanned the words on the page, his mouth dropping further and further open as he read. “Is this real?” he asked when he finished. “Do you believe this?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have any reason not to.” Quackity spread his hands in resignation. “I was only close with George a few weeks before they all vanished, but I don’t think he’d make something like this up. He’s not creative enough, for one.”

“Okay. So assuming this is real, what do you want from me?”

“He’s going after L’Manburg,” Quackity said. “Meaning, the kids and I. I can’t protect them, Bad. I’m just one guy.”

“What about Eret, Niki, Puffy, Karl?” Bad rattled off the names of the rest of the adults in L’Manburg. “They can’t help you?”

“Niki and Karl are staying out of this,” Quackity said firmly. “And Puffy’s not a fighter. Eret’s a possibility, I guess, but something about them rubs me the wrong way.”

“And nothing about us does?” 

“It absolutely does,” Quackity said. “But I have to believe you won’t betray me for Dream. George says he’s going after the kids, that he’s got Tommy on his side, which- what the actual fuck, seriously. If he can do that…”

“Yeah, I don’t like the sound of that at all,” Bad said, frowning, not even scolding Quackity for swearing. “It’s definitely in everyone’s best interest to put a stop to this. But understand, I’ll have to ask Sam and Ant what they want to do. We don’t force each other into anything, we don’t act as a single unit. If neither of them are willing to join me, I probably won’t come.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Skeppy stood at the bottom of the stairs, hardly in less of a state of disarray than when he’d left. He’d finished brushing his teeth, but his hair was sticking straight up, a comb stuck in it, and he’d thrown on one of Bad’s hoodies. “Skeppy, you’re not coming,” Bad said.

“I’m part of the Badlands,” Skeppy said, appearing to be serious. “It’s my choice, right?”

“Yeah, of course, but come on, Skeppy…”

“I can fight,” Skeppy insisted. “Remember?” Quackity sent a questioning look in Bad’s direction.

“He can, actually,” Bad confirmed. “But it’s been a while.”

“I’ll be fine,” Skeppy said with a wave of his hand. “I can handle it.”

Bad squinted. “Quackity, I’ll get back to you later, alright? Me and Skeppy need to talk right now.”

“Of course,” Quackity agreed, and left. He wasn’t sure what to think about that interaction, but he was somewhat confident he’d at least have Bad at his side, and if he remembered right, Sam genuinely cared about the kids’ well-being, so he’d probably come as well. That would be good. He didn’t completely trust Bad’s assessment of Skeppy’s skills, but it was possible that he’d have at least three fighters on his side.

The sun had fully risen at that point, and he had intended to stop next at Techno and Phil’s place, but on the way he became distracted by the giant smiley face painted in the street in front of Tubbo and Ranboo’s house. The paint was red, and he didn’t think it was a mistake. Some of it seeped into the cracks in the road, and that may have been a mistake, but it felt just as intentional. He stuck the tip of his shoe into the paint, and it came away red.

He ran into the house, not waiting for them to come to the door, and heard Tubbo crying in the other room. Ranboo was attempting to comfort him, and when he saw Quackity entering, his face was a mixture of relief and pure fear.

“What happened?” Quackity asked, remembering George had asked him not to tell Tubbo anything. Tubbo handed him the paper he was holding.

It was Dream’s handwriting. Quackity recognized it from a few letters Wilbur had kept in his war room. He’d seen it when Schlatt had taken over L’Manburg and allowed Quackity, as his right hand man, free reign of Wilbur’s office. Schlatt and Wilbur had some sort of history, something that had made Wilbur flee the country he’d made at first wind of Schlatt’s arrival, something that made Schlatt despise Wilbur’s possessions and aspirations, and gleefully see to it that they were destroyed. But it didn’t matter anymore; both men were dead, it was over.

Dream’s note was concise. It asked Tubbo to attend a meeting at the community house, just as George’s letter had promised. It warned him that Dream did not intend for L’Manburg to continue as it had been carrying on. That was all. There was something unsettling about his unruly scrawling, suggesting his hand had been shaking violently as he’d written it, something vaguely threatening about the smiley face with its punctured eyes drawn at the end.

“This is bad,” Quackity said, feigning surprise as best as he could. It didn’t matter. Neither boy was paying much attention to him.

“It is,” Ranboo said. He was the calmer of the two, an unusual occurrence. “What are we supposed to do, Quackity?”

That was perfect. Ranboo was turning to him for help, addressing him as the leader. If Quackity played this right, L’Manburg could be his in all but name, and what did he care about a title?

“Of course, the final decision is up to Tubbo,” he said, “but I think I should accompany him. Maybe some others, too. We don’t know who all Dream has on his side, and he could be planning something. We need to protect Tubbo.”

Ranboo nodded, his arm curling around Tubbo protectively.

“Oh, the final decision,” Tubbo mumbled miserably between tears. “I don’t care, Big Q. I don’t care about L’Manburg without Tommy. I’ll do what you think is best.”

There was a reason Tubbo was the president and not Quackity, despite Quackity being endlessly more capable as well as an actual adult. Eret wasn’t the only one held at arm’s length in the eyes of L’Manburg’s leadership. Wilbur had never let the rest of them forget that Quackity was Schlatt’s right hand man for a good long time, and that Quackity was not to be fully trusted. He had to be kept in check.

But that reason was crumbling in Wilbur’s absence, in Tubbo’s misery and misdirection. Outsiders already looked to Quackity as L’Manburg’s representative, as they had for months, not taking a child president seriously. 

“Tubbo, I know this is getting hard for you,” Quackity said, sitting down on Tubbo’s other side and resting a reassuring hand on his leg. “It’s way too much to put on you. Anyone can see you’re exhausted. I’ll only do it with your full permission, of course, but if you want me to, I’ll take things from here.”

Tubbo sniffed. “You mean, you want to be president?”

“No, no. I mean, I’ll do my best to handle this shit with Dream, that’s all. I don’t care about who’s technically the president. I’ll just be giving you a break.”

“That sounds nice, Q,” Tubbo said, looking up at him with bleary eyes. He did look exhausted, much more worn down than a seventeen-year-old had any right to be. Quackity was moved by the urge to help him, protect him and everyone else. “I’ll follow your lead."


	31. Tubbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> confrontation.

Tubbo knew he had to get it together. He wished he could take Ranboo or Fundy with him to keep him from panicking, but it wasn’t fair to ask them. They were both as afraid of Dream as he was. It wasn’t that he had anything against Quackity, he’d always been kind to Tubbo, but he wasn’t exactly the comforting type. 

When it was time, he met back with Quackity and they began the walk to the community house. Tubbo hadn’t been down that way in ages, but he remembered it fondly. It was a refuge in the beginning, a gathering place. He’d slept there his first few nights, before he moved to a new house with Tommy and Wilbur, and he’d returned many times just to meet other humans that had made it to Dream’s town, to remind himself that he wasn’t alone anymore.

The reminder of Tommy and Wilbur felt like a kick to the stomach, and he doubled over for a moment, stopping Quackity in his tracks. “You okay, man?” Quackity asked, and Tubbo could barely hear him because  _ they were both dead.  _ His first two friends since the zombies came, the first two people that had been alive, that had spoken to him, that had cared about him- they were both gone. 

“God damn it,” Tubbo said, reaching out an arm for Quackity to pull him up. “I can’t be doing this when we meet Dream. I’m sorry, Q. I’m an awful president.”

“You’re not awful,” Quackity assured him. “You’re probably the best we’ve had so far.”

“That’s not much of an accomplishment.” He tried and failed to push Tommy and Wilbur to the back of his mind. “Big Q, you’ve been vice president twice now, and I’m president. Do you think that’s a bad sign?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Every other president or vice president is dead.”

“Oh.” Quackity stared at him. “Jeez, man.”

“Yeah.” Tubbo kicked a pebble down the street, scuffing his shoes on the asphalt. He watched where it skidded to a stop and kicked it again, and again, hoping Quackity would say something else, anything else.

“Look,” Quackity said, “whatever happens, I’m backing you up, Tubbo. Do you want me to do the talking? Do you want me to talk to Dream?”

Tubbo looked up and realized they were almost at the community house. “I think I can handle some of it,” he said. “But if he throws me any fastballs or something…” 

He knew that Quackity could hold his own against Dream or anybody in an argument or debate. He always had a snappy rebuttal. Tubbo was the opposite. If things didn’t go exactly how he imagined they would in his head, he was at a loss. It was probably better to have Q there than Ranboo or Fundy, even if Tubbo would have preferred one of his friends. 

“I got it,” Quackity said. “I’ll know when to butt in. I’ll protect you, Tubbo, don’t worry.”

Tubbo was still very worried, but at least he wasn’t going in alone. At least Quackity was with him, watching out for him.

He stared down the door to the community house for a very, very long time, a part of him hoping if he stood here long enough, Dream would get tired of waiting and slink away forever. Eventually, Quackity sighed and moved past him to open the door, and Tubbo meekly followed him inside.

Dream was sitting on the long couch that Tubbo had spent many hours on with his friends, feeling comfortable and safe and at home for once. He didn’t belong there, not when he looked like that, legs spread wide and hunched over with his hands folded in front of him, conniving and threatening and  _ evil.  _ His mask, now adorned with a smiley face symbol just like Ranboo had seen a few months back, covered the entirety of his face, and his hood was up so Tubbo wouldn't be able to get a glimpse of his side profile either. Tubbo could understand the appeal of the mask for himself, if he was ever to become an evil mastermind, but he didn’t get why Dream needed it. As far as anyone knew, Dream didn’t get emotional, he just pretended to feel things sometimes, like a parrot mimicking human speech with little to no inkling of its meaning.

Beside him, Sapnap leaned against his shoulder, one leg propped up on his knee, a pained smile on his face. When he met Tubbo’s eyes, he winked, but it wasn’t a kind gesture. It was a taunt. George stood behind the couch, his arms draped around Dream’s neck and his goggles covering his eyes, leaning down to pull the hood away slightly and whisper something in Dream’s ear. Tubbo heard Dream’s faint laughter and felt sure both of their gazes were fixed on him, even if he couldn’t see their eyes.

Beside him, Quackity appeared to be attempting to compose himself. Tubbo remembered that he and Sapnap had been dating or whatever before they all disappeared, so it probably sucked for him to see Sapnap against him, at Dream’s side. But Q was never at a loss for words for long. “What do you want with us?” he demanded.

“Us?” Dream echoed. “I believe I asked to speak with Tubbo, seeing as he’s the president of L’Manburg and all. I didn't invite you.”

“Like I’d let you talk to him alone with all your knives on you.” 

“What, you think you could get in the way if I wanted to hurt him?” Dream laughed. “That’s cute.” He shifted, leaning back on the couch, his long hair spilling out as his hood fell back just slightly. “I’m not here for a fight. I’m here to clear things up.”

“Then go ahead and say what you have to say. We’ll hear you out,” Quackity said. Tubbo supposed he should feel a bit irritated that Quackity was usurping the conversation, but he didn't feel anything but relief.

“Alright,” Dream said. “I want L’Manburg gone.”

There it was. Tubbo had seen it coming. He wasn’t too upset about it either- L’Manburg was Wilbur’s dream, Tommy’s dream, not his, and he’d followed it for too long, but he was tired of trying. It was never the place Wilbur had imagined it to be. It was a gathering of scared children. Tubbo didn't think anyone in L'Manburg really cared about the country itself anymore, certainly not enough to risk fighting Dream over it.

“Not happening,” Quackity said. “Good talk. Come on, Tubbo, let’s go.”

Evidently, he'd been wrong.

Dream rose to his feet, and Tubbo and Quackity both stepped back instinctively. “Sorry, maybe I didn’t make myself clear. I want L’Manburg disbanded immediately, I want you all back under my control, and if you don’t listen, I will fight you. I don’t want to, but I will.”

Quackity shrugged. "Fuck that and fuck you. Why you expected us to lay down and let you walk all over us I'll never understand, but it's not happening."

"Quackity, do you seriously believe you have any power here?"

Quackity cracked his knuckles, clearly working up to a monologue. “You know, Wilbur was a power-hungry, abusive asshole,” he said. “But he was right about one thing. Dream, you’re a fucking tyrant. You’re a monster and an egomaniac and everyone knows it. We’re not going to submit to your rule, not when you’re acting like this. What happens if we do? Does everything just go back to normal, do we get peace? Is that what you want? You don’t know how to be at peace, do you? You’ve been at war in your mind long after Wilbur died and it ended, and you can’t get out of that mindset. No matter what, you’d push us until we have no choice.”

“That’s bullshit,” Dream said calmly, one hand resting on his gun. “Tubbo, he’s manipulating you, you know that, right? Aren’t you supposed to be the president? Why is he doing all the talking for you? I bet he told you he’d protect you, he’s on your side, he wants to keep you safe, right? Probably picked that up from Schlatt. When he’s talking about not knowing how to be at peace, he’s talking about himself just as much as he is about me.”

“Not true,” Quackity said. “All I want is peace. I've been trying to achieve it in your absence, you know. We were all doing alright with you gone. No wars, no violence. We could relax. The only thing holding us back was the fear that you'd return, and here you are, returning to fuck everything up."

“Let Tubbo talk,” Dream said. “I invited him here, not you. I want to hear what he has to say.”

Tubbo’s mind raced, trying to process everything Dream and Quackity had been saying.  _ Was  _ he being manipulated again? Fuck if he knew. No, Quackity had been a kid like him at the beginning, he’d been kicked around by Wilbur and Schlatt just like Tubbo had. He wouldn’t do that to Tubbo if he’d been through the same thing.

It wasn’t about L’Manburg anymore. It wasn’t about Wilbur. It was about what was right and what was wrong, and Dream was wrong. Dream meant them harm. Tubbo couldn’t let him have his way, even if it would be easier. He’d have to keep fighting. 

“Like Quackity said, we’re not submitting to your tyranny,” he said, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he felt. “We’re leaving.”

“Sorry,” Dream said, “but no, you’re not.”

He drew the machete sheathed at his side and pointed it at them, the tip of the blade mere inches from Quackity's throat. Tubbo had a few knives and a gun on him, and Quackity probably had the same, but George and Sapnap stood on either side of them, guns drawn. They’d be shot before they could try anything.   
  
Quackity sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. Tubbo followed suit. “Damn, you got us,” Quackity said flippantly, as if they weren’t totally about to die. “Oh, wait-”

Behind them, the door burst open and people began pouring into the room. Tubbo was pulled back behind everyone before he knew what was happening. He saw Eret, Puffy and Niki, Bad and Skeppy, Sam, Antfrost, and  _ Technoblade?  _ Seriously? Quackity was grinning widely, so it had to have been his doing. How had he gotten Techno here?

“Eret,” he said, and Eret turned to him, their face softening, but not before Tubbo caught a glimpse of the absolutely murderous expression in their eyes. He was taken aback. He hadn’t seen that side of Eret in almost two years, after a certain incident, but at least this time it wasn’t directed at him. 

“Yeah, Tubbo? Are you okay?” Eret asked, kneeling down a bit to reach Tubbo’s height.    


“I’m fine,” Tubbo said. “Sorry. I was just surprised.” He closed his eyes, but the image of Eret in a fury stuck with him. Eret had reassured him before that their rage had been directed toward Wilbur, not Tubbo, never Tubbo, but it was still a painful memory.

“It’s okay. I’m not gonna let Dream hurt you,” Eret promised. “I’ll body block you. Like a Secret Service agent.” They smiled, and Tubbo gave a weak smile in return, feeling unsettled at the scene occurring before him.

Dream didn’t seem the least bit afraid of being clearly outnumbered, though the same could not be said for George and Sapnap. “Can I help you all?” he asked. “Was there some reason you decided to interrupt the conversation I was having?”

“Some conversation,” Techno said, “three of you pointing weapons at a kid and an unarmed guy.”

“Quackity, you’re unarmed?” Tubbo whispered to Quackity beside him.

“Wouldn’t have done much good if I was armed,” Quackity whispered back. “Don’t worry about me, Tubbo. I took care of things, didn’t I?”

“Long time no see, Techno,” Dream said. “Didn’t know you’d thrown your lot in with L’Manburg. Thought you were preoccupied with your poor weak father and all.”

“Yeah, well, I like to be on the winning side,” Techno said, sounding unconcerned, “and it doesn’t look like you’ll be winning anything. No one else is on your side anymore. Are you seriously planning a 3v30? That’s pretty stupid, even for you.”

“Oh, it won’t be three of us,” Dream said. Something in his voice commanded Tubbo’s attention. Dream sounded like he wasn’t out of tricks yet, and maybe he even planned it this way. Maybe he anticipated that Quackity wouldn’t go in defenseless. Maybe he wanted them all there for a reason.

“What, did you bribe Punz again?” Techno asked mockingly. 

“Not quite,” Dream said. “I’ve made a new friend. You might recognize him.” 

Footsteps sounded from above, and everyone turned to the staircase. Tubbo couldn’t see through all the people, but he gathered from their dead silence that whoever it was, it was bad. 

“Hey, Techno,” a familiar voice said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perhaps i should finally do a techno pov...


	32. Techno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blood for the blood god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentine's day. here's a truckload of angst for the lonely bitches with no plans reading fanfic on february 14th. this one's dedicated to you. prepare to be emotionally devastated.

Technoblade was not a vulnerable person. He’d learned to conceal his weaknesses long ago, back when his twin brother was a charming, clever teenager with a tendency to get himself in situations he couldn’t always talk his way out of. Techno did the fighting, and he won, every time. That was never in question. No one else stood a chance.

His opponents changed many times over the years, from schoolyard bullies in their childhood California neighborhood, to the various knife-carrying thieves and criminals all along the East Coast that Wilbur managed to upset. The real enemy had been the gauntness of Tommy’s cheeks, but that wasn’t something Techno could punch, so he did what he could. Then, the enemy became hordes and hordes of groaning corpses, all clamoring to tear the skin off of his family’s bones and add them to their numbers. Techno had never been happier in those early days, protecting his family against the simplest opponents of all, never having to worry about moral implications. 

It didn’t last. Nothing did.

Two things were true: Techno missed his brother to the point it caused him real, physical pain, and he was very, very glad Wilbur was dead. There was no other end to that story, anyway. There was no saving Wil when he didn’t want to be saved. He’d given up hope on Tommy, too, putting all his efforts into making sure his father didn’t meet the same fate as the rest of his family, because what was he supposed to do then?

If he were to find out that Tommy had, by whatever miracle, survived out on his own for half a year and returned in one piece (well, mostly), he would have been thrilled. He didn’t want Tommy dead. He didn’t even dislike him anymore. Techno held grudges, but Tommy, being his brother, was the exception. He’d forgiven him, entirely, and he would be nothing but glad to see him return.

But not like this. God, not like this.

Tommy had changed plenty over the years, growing into himself, maturing, but he had never been quiet at any stage in his life. He could never grasp the nuance of letting a long silence speak for itself. That was, until now. 

Every eye in the room was on him, and he wasn’t saying  _ anything.  _ Techno wondered for a moment if it was really his brother, or if Dream had found Tommy’s long-lost identical twin with a polar opposite personality.

“Why isn’t anyone saying anything?” Tubbo asked. “Tommy, you’re alive?” He squeezed between Eret and Puffy, throwing his arms around Tommy. “I missed you so-”

Tommy effortlessly extracted himself from Tubbo’s embrace and deposited him gently on the floor. “Don’t touch me,” he said. 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I won’t.” Tubbo backed off, but the expression on his face didn’t change. “I missed you so, so much, Tommy. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know how you’re back, how you’re even alive, but I made such a mistake- I’m never doing anything Dream says again. You’re staying here, I promise.”

Techno feared that Tubbo had seriously misread the situation. Tommy wasn’t moving. His eyes moved from the floor to Dream, who gave a little shrug.

“I don’t care, Tubbo,” Tommy said.

“You don’t have to say that. I betrayed you. You don’t have to forgive me. You can be mad at me.”

“I’m tired of this,” Tommy said, still looking at Dream. “Can you deal with this, please?”

Techno began to piece a few things together. He wasn’t the brightest, but his powers of deduction were occasionally functional, so he figured out what Dream was about to say just before he said it. “Tommy is here because I brought him here,” Dream said. “Because he’s with me.”

Quackity was the only one who didn’t react in shock.  _ Interesting.  _ Tubbo was the most dramatic, predictably. “No he’s not, why would you even say that? Tommy hates you!”

“Things are different now, Tubbo,” Tommy said. “You missed a lot.” He moved to stand in front of Dream, looking out at all of them with complete confidence, almost boredom. “None of you are going to touch Dream. You’ll have to fight me first.”

He looked right at Techno when he said it, as if he expected Techno to attack him then and there.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Tommy, but I’m not going to fight you,” Techno said. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t. It just seems like an exceptionally bad idea any way I look at it.”

“I’m not keen on the idea either,” Tommy said with a shrug. “But Dream asked me to, so…” 

He threw the first punch.

Tommy was definitely stronger than Techno remembered. 

Something about that fact nagged at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t sit down and figure it out right now, because he couldn’t take Tommy out of the fight without hurting him anymore. He’d have to incapacitate him somehow to get this fight to stop, and that meant seriously injuring him. It wasn’t that Techno was concerned that he’d lose to Tommy, even with his new abnormal strength, speed, and agility. It was that Tommy was trying to force his hand. He wasn’t giving up.

Maybe he would have to lose, on purpose. He couldn't think of another way.

“Please don’t make me hurt you,” Techno grunted out, blocking another of Tommy’s punches. His moves were much more skillful and thought out than Techno remembered them being. His fighting style spoke of someone accustomed to going on the defensive.

“You’re going to have to,” Tommy responded. “Get it over with.”

There was a good reason Techno had never lost a fight. Fighting was one of the few things he could focus intensely on, a state of mind he didn’t often experience. Normally a hundred different things were happening at once in his mind, none of them particularly relevant to whatever was occurring around him, but when he fought, all of those tangents, those little voices, came together as one idea, one voice, one continuous chant.

**_Blood for the Blood God._ **

He couldn’t hurt Tommy. He couldn’t fight Tommy. He couldn’t let that happen to his brother. 

Tommy moved swiftly, fast enough that most people wouldn’t have been able to keep up. He aimed a kick at Techno’s legs, and Techno dipped out of the way in the nick of time, growing more and more frustrated. He attempted to pin Tommy down, but found, unsurprisingly, that he could no longer do so. Tommy shoved his hands away easily and twisted both wrists, but Techno wrenched his arms away before Tommy had held them long enough to seriously injure him. 

Maybe he could dodge until Tommy exhausted himself? It seemed unlikely. Tommy wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down, and Techno hadn’t eaten much today. His stamina wasn’t the best on an empty stomach. He would probably run out of steam faster than Tommy.

He could hear voices in the background, panicked discussions from the spectators, but he didn’t process any of what they were saying.  **_Blood for the Blood God_ ** drowned them all out. He had never attempted to shove it down and ignore it like this before. He had never gotten into a fight like this with someone he desperately did not want to hurt.

Tommy turned to Dream for a split second, who gave him a slow nod, and he pulled out a knife.

“Tommy,” Techno said warningly.  _ Please. I can’t do this.  _ “Don’t.”

Tommy feinted for Techno’s head, ducked under his outstretched hand, and jammed the blade into his stomach. 

**_Blood for the Blood God._ **

He felt only the faintest twinge of pain. He almost laughed.

**_Blood for the Blood God._ **

Techno took Tommy’s head in his hand and slammed it into the ground.

**_Blood for the Blood God._ **

When he tried to get back up, Techno pressed one foot into his chest and punched him across the face.

**_Blood for the Blood God._ **

Tommy was already coughing, gasping for breath, arms flailing, grasping for anything nearby he might be able to use to escape. In a last ditch effort, he pushed Techno off of him and tried to stand back up.

**_Blood for the Blood God._ **

Techno landed a second punch to his brother’s stomach, sending him flying. Tommy fell, his head cracking loudly against the floor, and didn’t move again.

**_Fuck._ **

Fuck.

Blood pooled around Tommy’s limp body, enough blood to worry about whether or not he’d survive. Techno couldn’t let himself think about that yet. Not until he returned to the world. Not until he was back with Phil, where it was safe.

Things were cooling down inside his head, the pieces splitting apart, guiltily slinking back to the corners of his mind, knowing they’d fucked up. Everyone in the room was staring at him in horror. There was no denying what he was now. They’d seen it. They knew. 

Well, he might as well finish the job, right?

He turned to Dream, someone he wasn’t nearly as conflicted about harming. Dream was someone he could choke the life from and rest easy. **_Blood for the Blood God_** sounded faintly in his head again. Dream's hand stretched towards Techno, grasping on to something that blurred in Techno's vision. He squinted.

“That,” Dream said, “was perfect.” 

Before Techno could register the object Dream held in his hand, he had already fired three rounds.


	33. Tommy

“Are you okay, dude?”

“I’ll be fine,” Tommy said, waving Sapnap away. His entire body hurt, but he didn’t care. Dream had instructed him not to move his head, so he wasn’t, which was an extreme annoyance. His head was a mess of bandages, wrapping around some of his face, and his chest was wrapped up too where he’d apparently broken several ribs. At least they’d left him in a sitting position instead of lying down.

“Was that the plan?” George asked Dream. “Was that what you wanted to happen?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Dream said. The two of them stood out of Tommy’s field of view, but he could hear them easily. Only Sapnap, hovering nearby in concern, was visible to him. 

“Why Technoblade? That’s what I don’t get. Why did you have to kill him?”

“I have my reasons for doing what I did.”

“He’s Tommy’s brother!” George shouted.

“Yeah, Tommy’s brother who just tried to kill him. You saw what happened. More importantly, everyone else saw what happened, too.” Dream’s voice was calm, civil, even. He’d switched into diplomat mode. Tommy had seen Dream play a hundred different characters, none of them any more sincere than the others.

“Tommy, are you okay with this?” George asked, stepping into the corner of Tommy’s vision. “Did Dream tell you what he was planning beforehand? Did you want Techno dead?”

“Dream, can you please,” Tommy started, but George cut him off.

“Not going to happen. I want to hear your honest answer. Did you want Techno dead?”

Tommy sighed. “I don’t  _ want  _ anything, George. What I really want is for you to leave me alone.”

“Well, I’m not going to do that. We are going to  _ talk about this.  _ I’m done staying in the dark. I don’t want to be surprised with this shit like I was today. That was awful. I was scared for my life.”

“You never have to be afraid for your life when I’m with you, George,” Dream said. “I promise. I’d never put you into a situation like that unless I’m in complete control. Which I was. Tommy can confirm.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, wincing as his head throbbed in pain once again. He reached for the water bottle on the table beside him, and Sapnap quickly pushed it into his hand. 

“It was his idea, you know, the fighting,” Dream added, which was not true at all, but Tommy nodded in agreement. Nothing was his idea. He didn’t provide ideas, he took orders and kept his thoughts to himself.

“To answer your question, George,” Tommy said, “I didn’t particularly want Techno dead.”

“So how do you feel now that Dream’s killed him?”

“We don’t know he’s dead,” Tommy said, and immediately wished he hadn’t spoken.

“Tommy, he took three bullets to the chest. If they had a hospital to rush him to, he might stand a chance, but unless he was wearing a bulletproof vest, there’s no way in hell he’d survive that- and I saw the amount of blood that came out of him, those bullets hit home. Techno can certainly take a beating, but he can’t take that.”

“I’m of the mind, personally, to never believe someone’s dead until you’ve got their corpse in your arms,” Dream said. “That goes double for Techno.”

“You’re not seriously trying to convince me he could have survived that? Do you think I’m stupid? Sapnap, back me up here!”

“Uh,” Sapnap said, “I think I’d rather stay out of it, if that’s alright.”

“Unless…” George was getting close, Tommy could tell. This was dangerous. Tommy didn’t know if Dream wanted George to piece it together or not. He couldn’t see Dream at all, and he desperately wanted to know what Dream was thinking, but Dream had asked him not to move. “Dream,” George started, “When you got hurt.” Tommy didn’t fail to notice that George avoided mentioning that he’d been the one to hurt Dream. “You survived, and you shouldn’t have. Because of that thing you told us about, the stuff in the lab.”

“That’s true,” Dream said. 

“And you gave it to Tommy, meaning there was some left over. Don’t try to deny that, I know it’s true.”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Tommy said, wanting to absolve himself from responsibility for George’s revelation.

“No, he didn’t. I figured it out watching them fight. Tommy beating us so easily, that’s within the realm of possibility, I guess, but Tommy holding his own against Techno for so long? Bullshit. You hooked him up.”

“George, you’re much cleverer than you’re pretending to be.” Dream sounded impressed. “You’re spot on so far. Keep going.”

“So if you’re both so insistent on the fact that Techno may have managed to survive, that means at some point you gave that same stuff to Techno. I don’t know why, that doesn’t sound like you at all, but there’s no other way he’d survive three fucking rounds to the chest.”

“We didn’t give it to him,” Tommy said. 

“Then how did you know he’s had it?”

“We don’t.”

“I had a hunch,” Dream said. 

“You had a  _ hunch?  _ So you still don’t know for sure?”

“Seeing as he still kicked my ass, we’re fairly certain,” Tommy said, closing his eyes as another wave of pain hit him. “Wouldn’t mind another Advil.”

“Says on the bottle you’re supposed to take one every four hours,” Sapnap reported. “It’s only been two.”

“I think we’re past that, man.” 

“Eh,” he said, “they’re six months expired anyways.” He deposited three of them into Tommy’s outstretched hand, and Tommy dry-swallowed them one at a time.

“Look, George,” Dream said, “I’ll go out and check later tonight to see how Techno’s doing. If they’re organizing a funeral, I’ll be genuinely sorry. I had no intention of killing him like that. But I’m fairly confident he’ll pull through.”

George looked unconvinced. “Fine,” he said. “But if he’s dead, I’m done with this. I’m not coming with you on the next one of these little confrontations. I won’t be involved. I’m not a killer.”

“Well.” Tommy may not have been able to see Dream’s face, but he could easily picture his smirk. “I wouldn’t be so confident of that.”

Dream was gone, Sapnap was asleep or trying to be, and Tommy still hadn’t moved from the couch. He was feeling better, though. Dream hadn’t told him to keep this vigil- he’d actually told him to get some sleep, as if anyone slept around here. But Tommy had a hunch, and he was going to find out whether or not he was right. 

The events of the day had set a fire under George, and he was defiant again. It probably wouldn’t last too long, but in the meantime, especially since he’d earned a far less stringent scrutiny, he would probably be plotting something. With Dream gone for an indeterminate amount of time, it would be the logical time for him to take action.

Within five minutes of Dream’s departure, Tommy heard the window in George’s room slide open.

He could hear things much better now, not that he wanted to. Of all his new skills, it was the least desirable. This was the first time it had been useful, since in the heat of a battle when it might give him the upper hand, the other noises were simply too overwhelming for the important sounds to be distinguishable. 

Tommy forced himself to his feet, ignoring the protesting ache in his skull, and snuck outside as silently as possible. He could hear himself, of course, but he doubted George could hear him. He followed George for a block or two before getting closer and clamping his hand down on George’s wrist.

George pulled out his gun immediately and the barrel found a place near Tommy’s ear, but Tommy knew he wasn’t going to shoot. His heart was pounding too loud. He was afraid, not angry. “Tommy?” he asked.

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“What do you want?” His voice was tense, and he hugged something close to him. Tommy caught a glimpse of the corner of a sheet of paper poking from between his coat and shirt. He was sending a message.

“George. Look.” Tommy easily took the gun from George’s shaky grasp and handed it back to him. “Put that away. Listen to me.”  George slid the gun back in its holster.  “Does what you’re doing directly involve me?” 

“No,” George said. “I mean, the note mentions you. But it’s not going to affect you.”

“Then I don’t care.”

“You mean, you’re not going to go back and snitch to Dream the second he gets home?” George asked disbelievingly. “Yeah, whatever. I resigned myself to being locked back up the second you touched me.”

Tommy realized he was still holding George’s arm. He released him. “I’m serious. I don’t care.”

“If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be doing every little thing Dream tells you.”

“You mind your business and I’ll mind mine,” Tommy said. “I didn’t ask to read the note. I didn’t ask who it’s for.”   


George seemed to be considering. “Man,” he said. “You’re fucking insane, aren’t you.”

Tommy didn’t really think of himself as insane, but he didn't bother to dispute the accusation. “Like you have any room to talk.”

“Fine,” George said. “Can I go now?”

“Do what you want,” Tommy said. His curiosity had been satisfied, and he believed George when he said it didn’t involve him. That was enough. He turned and walked back home.

And, true to his word, he didn’t speak a word of it to Dream.


	34. Correspondance #2 & 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when george opens the mailbox to deliver his next letter, he finds one already inside.

_ George, _

_ It seemed from your last letter that you’d be stopping here again, so I left a note in return. Please don’t stick the flag up again. I don’t want Karl to notice. I’ll check it more often now that I know you’re writing. _

_ Techno’s alive, by some goddamn miracle, but as of writing this he still hasn’t regained consciousness. Phil, Tubbo and Ranboo are all with him. Their house is well guarded tonight; we’re not taking any chances. If Dream wants to come finish him off, he’ll have a hard time. _

_ We’ve come to a consensus once Techno’s recovered enough to have an input that we’re going to band together and put a stop to whatever Dream’s plan is. I hope you’ll continue to provide any information you think might be useful. Most importantly: is Dream in contact with anyone else? Everyone seems to be of the mind that if Tommy’s on Dream’s side, anyone could be, so they’re all pretty paranoid. Information on Punz specifically would be helpful.  _

_ Bad wants to know if he’s allowed to clue Sam and Ant in on your little spy operation. I told him I’d let him know. I’m not planning on informing anyone else unless you want me to, in which case I’d be happy to do so.  _

_ That’s pretty much it for now. Today was… interesting, I guess. I do appreciate the heads-up, and you were smart to choose me as your confidant, because the rest of these people seem very unwilling to do anything but talk about how scared and confused and betrayed they feel. I’ll get it taken care of, though. Don’t worry. _

_ Quackity _   
  


  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_ Q, _

_ Tommy’s alive. He’ll be back on his feet sooner than you’re all expecting, I’m sure. There’s a lot of shit involved with that that I’ll have to get into in a different letter, it’s a complicated scenario.  _

_ Dream says he’s going to check on Techno tonight. I have no idea what that means, but it’s probably nothing good. No word on what he’s planning next besides a general dismantling of L’Manburg.  _

_ Apparently the fight between Tommy and Techno was Tommy’s idea. I have my doubts that Tommy’s telling the truth on that one. I have my doubts about Tommy in general, but he’s not important to me. Sapnap is important to me, and there’s no progress on that front.  _

_ I thought him seeing you would shake something up with him, but it hasn’t seemed to. Maybe next time, because knowing Dream there’ll be a next time, bring Karl and really play up the angle that you miss him and you feel betrayed. I sincerely doubt he doesn’t miss the hell out of you both. I’ll try to bring you guys up with him again. I’m sure you two will end up being his weak spot. _

_ The shit that happened today has somehow managed to reinvigorate me a bit. Dunno how long it’ll last, but I’ll be taking advantage of it for now.  _

_ George _

_ P.S: Yes, Bad can tell Sam and Ant. I knew them both in college even before the apocalypse, they’re alright. Of course, I’ve known Dream for forever, so that’s a worthless metric. _

_ I’ve got nothing on Punz or any other possible allies. I’ll try to ask Dream about him. _


	35. Ranboo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> technoblade never dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today, i offer you a large serving of lore and foreshadowing. tomorrow? who knows.

Ranboo wasn’t sure how late it was, but he’d hesitantly estimate it to be one or two in the morning. Tubbo was asleep beside him, his head resting against Ranboo’s arm. Ranboo had been sitting up too tall on the couch when Tubbo had drifted off, and now he was afraid to slouch down and risk waking him. 

Philza returned to the room and smiled at the two of them. “How long has he been asleep?” he asked Ranboo in a near-whisper. 

Ranboo shrugged. “Don’t really remember,” he said.

“Have you been sleeping too?”

He was wide awake, as he often found himself at night, but he nodded, because it was easier than taking the time to explain that he was usually unable to process the passage of time. “But I don’t want to sleep when he’s sleeping now. I’m worried. I mean, I know I won’t stand a chance if Dream does decide to attack us, but still… I can’t leave him unprotected.”

“This house is well-guarded tonight,” Phil promised. “Dream won’t be getting in.” He cast a look at Techno, who lay unconscious on the bed beside them. “He won’t be hurting anyone else tonight.”

“I’m really sorry about your son,” Ranboo said. He wasn’t really sure how to talk to Phil, the only real adult in town. He only had the faintest of memories of speaking to other adults, and he was fairly certain he’d always been bad at it.

“Which one?” Phil asked sadly.    


“Doesn’t matter, I guess.” 

“At least Techno will be okay.” Phil rested a loving hand on Techno’s unmoving shoulder. “He’ll wake up angry, I’m sure, but he’ll be alive and safe, and that’s what matters.”

“Yeah, about that.” Ranboo hadn’t been there when Techno was shot, but the conviction with which Tubbo spoke, plus the sheer amount of blood he’d seen Techno lose, had convinced him that Techno shouldn’t have survived. “How is he alive, exactly?”

“That’s an excellent question,” Phil said. “I’m not sure it’s a question I should answer for him. He’s not one to entrust people with secrets.” He looked at Ranboo. “But you’re the one that forgets everything, aren’t you? Maybe it doesn’t matter if I tell you. You won’t even remember.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Ranboo had every intention of writing down Philza’s secret the second he left the room, but he felt like admitting that would jeopardize his chances of hearing it. 

“I’ve kept it for what feels like forever,” Phil said. “But it’s really only been about two years. You’ve heard of Enermic, right?”

“Yes.” Ranboo carefully reached his arm down towards his backpack on the floor, but he couldn’t quite reach. “Could you-” Phil lifted the bag up to his lap, and Ranboo rooted around inside with one hand, the other held as still as possible so as not to wake Tubbo. He found the book he was looking for, the one titled  _ overall important shit you should just know  _ and flipped to one of the pages that mentioned Enermic. “The guys that made the first zombies. I knew that sounded familiar.”

“Jesus, kid, your memory is really fucking bad.”

Ranboo shrugged using only one shoulder. “Wilbur always said I probably had severe head trauma, but the funny thing is, I can’t remember.”

“And there’s no doctors or psychiatrists to try to get you help anymore,” Phil murmured. “So you’re just stuck living like this.”

“Pretty much.” At the look of dismay on Phil’s face, he quickly added, “I’ve gotten used to it by now.”

“Ah. Well.” Phil looked away. “I used to work for Enermic,” he said. “The guys that made the first zombies.”

“Ohhh,” Ranboo said. “I get it. Techno’s secretly a zombie, and we can’t tell anyone.”

“What? No. Do you even know how zombies work?” 

Ranboo flipped through a few more pages, but found nothing helpful. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, that I can’t fault you for. It doesn’t seem to be common knowledge, and I’ve been wondering if we have Dream to blame for that.” 

“So I take it there’s a little more to it than a zombie bites you and you turn a bit green?”

“Zombies are not humans,” Phil said. “They are a disease, a virus, that takes over the dead body of a human. In trying to reverse death, Enermic designed their immortality to be viral, but they neglected to take the mind with the body. So, no zombie could pose as human. They don’t have the intellectual capacity. Their brains are still very much dead. The only thing that compels them is the virus.”

Ranboo copied down an approximation of what Phil said. “That’s really interesting,” he said. “I’ll tell Tubbo about this when he wakes up, if I remember to. So if Techno isn’t a zombie, how did he survive?”

“Well, Enermic was trying to achieve immortality, to put a stop to death altogether. Their first approach was an absolute disaster, but they had a second location working on a different method. They focused on things like the altering of someone’s DNA. When their scientists were killed off, they left their work behind, and we found it.”

“You mean, Techno’s immortal?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not quite, anyway. But we’ve been running some tests. Primitive stuff compared to whatever was going on in that lab, but it made him pretty damn strong, and it would take a lot more than a few bullets to kill him.”

“Was any of it left over?” Ranboo asked.

“When we left the laboratory, we left five vials behind. We haven’t been back since. It’s… not a good place.”

Beside them, Techno began to stir. Phil returned his attention to his son, and Ranboo used the opportunity to quickly scribble down a few sentences.  _ Techno took weird zombie steroids and can’t die. Zombie scientists tried to come up with immortality. Phil used to work for them.  _ He hoped he’d be able to make sense of it later.

“Dad?” Ranboo heard Techno say. He’d never heard Techno sound like that before, so normal and human. He felt like he was eavesdropping on something he wasn’t supposed to hear.

“I’m here, Techno.” Phil rubbed his son’s shoulders and the back of his neck, gently massaging him awake. Ranboo felt a stab of nostalgia, a wisp of a memory he’d long forgotten. At some point, he’d had family to comfort him like that, to care for him when he was sick or hurt. But he couldn’t even picture their faces.

“Phil.” Techno was awake now, pushing Phil’s hands aside. He tried to sit up, but Phil stopped him, and in confusion his hands went to the bandages wrapped around his chest. “God damn it. That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Don’t get out of bed,” Phil said. “Not for a few days at least.”

“Phil, come on, you know I’ll be fine-” Techno froze when he saw Ranboo sitting there, and Ranboo quickly averted his eyes. “Why are the kids here?” Techno asked.

“Tubbo wanted to be here to make sure you would pull through,” Phil explained. “And Ranboo goes where Tubbo goes, apparently.”   


“I’m not leaving him alone,” Ranboo said. “Not with Dream back.”

Techno gave him a once-over. “How old are you?” he asked, squinting at Ranboo in suspicion.

“Uhhh…” Ranboo knew that his books wouldn't offer him any hints. “Seventeen? Eighteen? I don’t know.”

“Whatever.” Techno relaxed back on to the bed. “They all saw, didn’t they. There’s no point.”

“I think we could still keep it quiet,” Phil said, “if you wanted. You’d have to stay in bed for a while, though, and I strongly doubt your ability to do that. You’re not healed yet by any means, and you’re still itching to get out there and find Dream, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to snatch that stupid mask off his face and twist his head off his body,” Techno promised. “He probably thinks he took me out today. He’ll never see it coming. Dream is not the one I’m worried about.”

“It's Tommy,” Ranboo said absently.

“Could you at least pretend you’re not listening in?” 

“It’s hard when you’re both right next to me,” Ranboo protested. 

“Ranboo’s alright,” Phil reassured Techno. “He’s a good kid.” Ranboo had no idea why Phil was vouching for him, but he appreciated it. “I heard everything that happened today from Tubbo. It’s… a lot to process, for sure. We’ll have to get some things figured out.”

“That’s the thing,” Techno said. “Tommy’s not the same. He’s… look, Ranboo, can you just get out. Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not waking up Tubbo.”

“Well, that’s too bad, because Tubbo’s awake,” Tubbo mumbled sleepily, stretching his arms across Ranboo's lap and yawning. “What are we talking about, guys? Is Techno okay?”

“I’m doing great,” Techno said without a hint of irony.

“I find that a bit hard to believe, to be honest.” Tubbo blinked a few times and looked up at Ranboo. “Hey, Rambo.”

“Hey, Tubbo.”

“Forget it,” Techno said grumpily. “Phil, I’ll talk to you later. I’m going back to sleep, and I’d appreciate it if you all got the hell out of here.” He closed his eyes, and Phil reached over to switch off the light beside his bed. 

Phil and Tubbo got up and left, and Ranboo went to follow them, but at the last second he turned around, feeling as though he was being watched. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling; he was used to impulses of paranoia. Techno hadn’t moved, and when Ranboo stepped nervously past his bed to the window, he didn’t react. He must have been exhausted to lose consciousness so quickly.

Ranboo peered out the window. It was pitch black outside, and he squinted, trying to make out anything, even the vague outline of trees in the distance, but there was nothing. He pressed his face closer to the glass.

A smiling white mask stared back at him, less than a foot away.

“AHH!” Ranboo jumped back in horror, landing on the bed. He picked himself up immediately, but the face was gone from the window, if it had ever been there at all. 

“What the hell is wrong with you,” Techno grumbled. “I said to leave.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m going.” Ranboo scrambled for his backpack and headed for the door. 

“Just a second.” Techno reached out an arm in his direction. “What were you doing?”

“I- I thought I saw something at the window,” Ranboo stammered.

“And did you?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t understand the wave of shame and guilt that washed over him when he said it. “I’m sorry.”

Techno sighed. “Goodnight, kid,” he said. “Next time you get scared, take it up with Phil. He’s good at nightmares and hallucinations.”

_ It wasn’t a nightmare,  _ Ranboo wanted to say, but he couldn’t be sure of that. It had felt real, but a lot of things felt real to him, and many of them weren’t. 

He cast one last glance at the window, as dark and empty as ever, and left to find Tubbo.


	36. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they could use some more allies.

He still had Quackity’s letter. He hadn’t destroyed it. It was wadded up in the pocket of his jacket, which hung off the chair. Worse, Dream was asleep beside him, and Dream was a light sleeper who would wake at George’s slightest movement. He would have to keep it on him until he got an opportunity to get rid of it.

He pulled himself out of bed, rousing Dream immediately, and wrapped the jacket back around his shoulders where the letter would be safe, digging his hands into the pockets to check if it was still there. It was untouched, or so he hoped. 

He had been reckless, leaving it in his pocket and falling asleep, knowing full well Dream would join him. He couldn’t make that mistake again.

“Good morning, babe,” Dream mumbled sleepily, yawning and snuggling up next to where George had been laying. “Oh. You got up already.” 

“Babe?” George echoed.

“Just trying it out,” Dream shrugged. “Are you still mad about yesterday?”   


“No… well, yes, actually. Yes, I am. Was Techno alive?” 

“Couldn’t get anywhere near the house, Sam and Eret and Puffy were guarding it. But I eavesdropped on Eret and Puffy’s conversation. They were trying to figure out how Techno had survived. So, yeah, he’s alive, and they’re all wondering how.”

“Okay,” George said. “Well, that’s good then.”   


“It is,” Dream agreed. “If they’re suspicious of him, they’ll be split up and distrusting. Tommy’s presence helps that bit too. If Tommy’s on my side, anyone could be, right? Maybe Eret, they’ve got a history of betrayal. Maybe Karl, he’d never go against Sapnap. It’s perfect.”

“But there’s only four of us against all of them,” George asked. “Right? No one else?”

Dream laughed. “Well, not quite.”

“You mean, there’s someone else on our side? Do I get to know or is it a secret?” 

“It’s very complicated. I don’t think you knowing about it would be to our benefit. Tommy doesn’t even know.”

“I’m guessing it’s not just Punz then,” George said.   
  
“No, but I’ve been thinking I should talk to him. Ask him where his loyalties lie. Wouldn’t hurt to have another capable fighter around.” Dream searched his dresser drawer for new clothes. “Could go today. You could come with me, if you’d like.”

“Maybe I would like that.” 

Dream grinned. “Get changed, you’ve been wearing those clothes for a day and a half now,” he scolded, heading for the bathroom. “Wear something of mine, if you want.”

He still wouldn’t change clothes in front of George, despite everything. George wondered, not for the first time, if there was something he shouldn’t see, some kind of awful scar beneath Dream’s clothes that he kept secret. 

He rummaged through Dream’s drawer and picked out a pair of boxers, a plain T-shirt, some black jeans. The jeans were much too long on him, so he gave up and wore a pair of his own instead. He was about to pull out the note when Dream walked in on him half-naked and backed out, apologizing.

“Just because you have a problem being undressed doesn’t mean I do,” George said. “You’ve seen me naked before. So has Sapnap. It doesn’t matter.”

Dream shrugged and waited in the doorway as George finished getting dressed. “I don’t have a problem with it,” he said.

“Yes, you do, and it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“You mean it?”

George didn’t know what to think when Dream got like this, when he said things that almost made him sound human. It was hard to convince himself that the things Dream was saying weren’t real when this definitely was. It was raw and honest, Dream’s fear evident in his face.

“Yeah, I do,” George said. “I know you’re afraid of it. I know you only get undressed in the dark, I know you don’t want me to see. And I don’t care. That’s your right.”

In response, Dream pinned him to the wall and kissed him. 

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence anymore. George kissed back until it was over, that was all. And if he melted a bit at the sensation of Dream’s hands at his hips, pinkies slipped through his belt loops, it didn’t matter, because when they broke apart, he was back to himself as if there was no interruption.

“God, George, I love you,” Dream said, lips inches from George’s ear.

“I love you too.” The words slipped from his mouth so easily, as if it had been two days since he’d spoken them, instead of two years.

At least he hadn’t meant it yet. There would be no coming back from that.

“Oh,” Punz said. “I’d heard you were back.”

Dream had a hand slung around George’s hip, and George wasn’t sure what Punz thought about it, but it didn’t really matter in the end. He played the part, though, plastering a disinterested look across his face. It wasn’t a hard mood to reach for. Quackity’s note was burning a hole in his pocket, but he tried to ignore it.

“We are back,” Dream said. His mask was on, as it always was with outsiders. Despite remaining loyal to Dream for two and a half years, Punz had always been counted among the outsiders. “And we’re wondering what you think about it.”

“Well,” Punz said. “I mean, obviously I’ve been giving it some thought.”

“And?” George asked, taking his cue- a twinge of movement from Dream, his finger slipping inside George’s shirt and touching skin.

“To be honest, I’ve been leaning towards just sitting this one out.” Punz appeared to be relaxed, but he was sensible, so he was afraid of Dream like everyone else. George could tell. He didn’t doubt Punz’s gun was loaded, and the steady hand he rested on his hip was in a perfect position to grab the holster at a moment’s notice.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dream said. “Any particular reason why?” There was no explicit threat, but it was there under his curt, polite words, and Punz got the message.

“I’m not interested in getting into a conflict with you,” Punz said. “At all. That’s my main priority, actually. But there’s just some stuff I’d rather not be involved in, that’s all.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dream pulled George gently in the direction of the couch, and George, knowing Dream’s great fondness for dramatic poses, let Dream arrange himself on the sofa, one foot propped up against the opposite knee and arms spread across the back, and lay across him with his head in Dream’s lap. It served the dual purpose of being obnoxious and over-the-top, as well as incapacitating Dream just slightly in case trouble broke out. “I do have a question, though.”

Punz’s eyes met George’s briefly, and George tore his eyes away as fast as he could. He began picking at his nails. “Go for it,” Punz said.

“At what point did you suddenly decide to grow a conscience?”

“Hey, man, come on…”

“Because in case you haven’t noticed, Punz,” Dream said, “we’ve been fighting children this entire time. Wilbur used them as soldiers, yeah, and we fought back. Hurt them, even. Drew blood. I remember you injuring kids, shooting at them on multiple occasions, right alongside the rest of us. I can’t have you taking a pointless moral stand now.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then explain to me what it’s like. I’ll wait.”

Punz’s fingers flew to the medallion around his neck, as they frequently did when he became anxious. His other hand remained close to the gun. “I’m not sure you really want to hear what I’m thinking, Dream. We don’t have to do this.”

“I value the opinions of my peers,” Dream said.

“Fine.” Punz clenched the medallion in a fist, tugging on the chain. “I stopped by your house with Q and Karl a few months ago. They were looking for clues on where Sapnap had gone, and I knew nothing at the time and volunteered to help. I was worried about the three of you, disappearing without a word. We found… well, I’m betting you know what we found.”

George had no idea what they’d found, but Dream certainly seemed to know. His body tensed slightly under George’s head. “Go on.”

“It was yours,” Punz said, “wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Dream confirmed. “I fail to see how this is relevant.”

“You’ve gone insane,” Punz accused.

“Have I?”

“You have. I’m sorry. I can’t work with that. Maybe you were always crazy and I’m just now realizing it, but whatever. I’m not getting in your way, but I’m done with it. I’m just done.”

Dream pressed a gentle kiss to George’s forehead and slipped away. “Babe,” he whispered, “close your eyes.”

George didn’t, but watched through his eyelashes. Punz’s eyes widened in fear as Dream lazily selected a knife from his jacket. Punz fired once, and missed. Dream did not.

Punz fell to the floor in shock, staring at the knife in his gut. “Now you have a choice,” Dream said. “You can let us save your life, or you can bleed out on the floor. Up to you.”

“Fuck you, man.” He spat in Dream’s direction, reaching for his gun again. George closed his eyes, for real this time, not wanting to see what came next.

He heard a horrible noise from Punz, and dead, measured silence from Dream. “Fine, fine, Jesus Christ,” Punz choked out, “please, I don’t want to die.”

“Good choice.” 

George could smell the blood again, and something in the corner of his mind loved it. His eyes wanted to open, but he didn’t let them.

“It’s time to go, George.” Dream’s fingers suddenly threaded through George’s, warm and sticky with blood. “You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.”   
  
“I’ll be fine.” George averted his eyes from Punz on the floor as he stepped over the red spots in the carpet on his way out. Dream wiped the blood from the knife on his shirt and tucked it away.    
  
“George,” Punz’s voice came faintly from behind. He sounded as if he was near losing consciousness. “What happened to you?”

For some reason, it pissed him off.

“You might be about to find out,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so originally i was going to have them ask punz what he thought, and punz would give some generic ass answer about being undecided, and i'd ask what you guys would prefer to see, him joining dream or him having morals and protecting the kids. and then i started writing this and i said, fuck it. dream needs to be scarier. all he's done so far is shoot techno. this fic is supposed to have graphic depictions of violence in it, for fuck's sake. 
> 
> fun fact! it is the one month anniversary of me posting chapter one of this fic! within a month, i've published almost 50k words. that's like, nanowrimo speeds, and i just did this on an impulse and somehow kept it going. wild.   
> in celebration of the one month publishing anniversary, i will be doing... absolutely nothing special besides writing the next chapter.


	37. Quackity

“War council,” Quackity announced. “We’re getting this done.”

L’Manburg, the Badlands, and Techno and Phil were firmly allied now, no questions between them. Techno was in a wheelchair and looked upset about it, but Phil had made it a condition of him coming at all. Frankly, there was no reason why he should be anything but dead, but Quackity wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“So it’s war then?” Bad asked. “Officially?” He, Sam and Ant stood together; Skeppy hadn’t made an appearance today. 

“I’m of the opinion that Dream declared war in no uncertain terms yesterday when he attempted to murder Technoblade. That’s unacceptable. That’s warfare,” Quackity said. “If anyone disagrees, feel free to speak up now.”   


Puffy, ever the pacifist, looked upset, but she didn’t say a word. Like the rest of them, she’d doubtlessly been shaken by the previous day’s events. It had been a better show than Quackity could have ever imagined, and they hadn’t even lost Techno for it. 

And then came the problem.

“Q,” Tubbo said, “thank you. For everything. I really don’t know how to thank you enough for what you did for me yesterday. But seeing Tommy…” He trailed off, staring morosely at the floor, capturing everyone’s attention. “That was hard. I don’t know what happened to him, but I can guess some things. Next to Wilbur, I knew Tommy the best, and I can promise you, if he’s doing these things, it’s because he’s very, very hurt. The Tommy I know… he would never. We have to get him back. We can’t forget him.”

Heads were nodding across the room. Quackity cursed himself for doing something so stupid as writing Tommy off as a loss. That stupid kid always seemed to bounce back somehow. 

“I know it’s horrifying,” Tubbo continued. “I almost pissed myself yesterday.” He allowed himself a small smile. “But I’m done letting myself go, I’m done mourning what we used to have. This is what we have now, and we can lay down and take Dream’s shit, or we can take back control of the narrative and make L’Manburg, and make the whole town, for that matter, a safe place to live again!”

“Hell yeah,” Eret agreed. There was a glint of something that Quackity recognized in their eyes. So many moving pieces here. Tubbo was not going to make this easy.

“I know you want to save Tommy,” he said. “I want that too, of course. I hate seeing Tommy like this. I was against exiling him in the first place, you know. I was ready to go to war for him.” Watching Tubbo’s confidence swiftly collapse, he pressed on. “But just as much as you want to save Tommy, Karl and I want to save Sapnap. That’s a personal connection, and it’s dangerous. You have to make a choice before we get into another fight, where you stand. And personally, Tommy, Sapnap… I’d hurt either of them before I let them kill my president. That’s war. I’m sorry, Tubbo.”

“He’s right, unfortunately,” Bad agreed, to Quackity’s surprise. He didn’t know what Bad was playing at, taking Quackity’s side, but he wasn’t about to stop him. “That’s the choice we have to make. Dream, George, and Sapnap are all my friends. All of our friends, actually.” He gestured to his compatriots. “We spent a lot of time discussing it, what it’d be like to have to fight against them. Diplomacy, past relationships, they can only take us so far.”

Quackity could trust himself saying these things, for now, but he wasn’t sure he could trust Bad saying them. He didn’t know to what extent Bad really meant it.

He didn’t know to what extent he himself really meant it, either.

“No, no, no.” Quackity at first thought Tubbo had piped up again, but when he turned to his right, it was Karl who had spoken. Karl had accompanied Quackity because he had nothing better to do, but he’d taken a seat in the corner, seeming content only to listen and observe. “Quackity, babe, what the hell are you saying?”

“Can we not do this right now?” Quackity said quietly. “Please?”

“No, this isn’t a you and me issue. This is- we can’t let go of our sentimentality, our love for our friends. That’s not okay. That’s dangerous. I understand that Dream’s too far gone, I think we all knew that anyway, but if we can pull the rest away from him, if we get them back, don’t we stand a much better chance?”

“Yes,” Puffy blurted, standing up. It didn’t make much of a difference- she was very short. “Yes, Karl, thank you. Quackity, I know you mean well, I know war is hard and difficult decisions have to be made, but Tommy is just a kid. We can’t let ourselves forget that. He’s a kid and he’s in a lot of pain and it’s our responsibility as adults to protect him.”

“I think I’m with Quackity,” Niki said quietly, and Puffy whirled on her. “I’m sorry, Puffy.”

“Niki, you can’t-”

“No, there’s no sides here.” Tubbo had regained his composure. “We work together. We’re not arguing and splitting ourselves apart. That’s what Dream would want us to do. We have to put aside our disagreements and take Dream down, right?”

Fuck. Quackity should have suggested that before Tubbo did.

He met Bad’s eyes, he met Niki’s eyes, and both of them gave him a firm nod. He felt Karl’s gaze on him, and tried to ignore it, promising himself he’d talk to Karl in private once they were done. He couldn’t throw Karl aside. He loved his boyfriend, he wanted him to be safe, that was what was important here, and he couldn’t let himself lose sight of that or he’d end up the same as Schlatt.

“Of course we work together,” Quackity agreed. “Always. That’s the only way.”

They deliberated for another hour, the tension hanging in the air, organizing patrols, searches, establishing wartime policies. The Badlands had apparently endless resources, as if they’d known war was coming, and it was all Quackity’s to take advantage of. All of it was untouchable to Dream. 

When it was over, Karl cornered him immediately. Tears were welling up in his eyes before he’d even spoken. Niki, Bad and Ant lingered behind, probably expecting Quackity to have something to say to them, but he motioned for them to wait and followed Karl outside, away from the meeting house.

“What was that in there?” Karl demanded. “You told Tubbo you’d hurt Sapnap to defend him? Was that true?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then what was the point of saying it?”

“I’m doing what I have to do to protect L’Manburg. I needed Tubbo on my side, and I tried to say what he needed to hear. I would never hurt Sapnap, babe, I promise.”

“You know what?” Karl pushed Quackity’s hands away from him, wiping furious tears from his eyes. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“You can’t be serious.”   


“I am. I don’t know what’s happening to you, Quackity, but I feel like I’m losing you too. I can’t handle that right now, okay? Please, just be the good person I know you are. Don’t get lost in politics. Don’t get lost in war.”

“But L’Manburg-”

“L’Manburg doesn’t matter to me. What matters is the people in it.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Quackity said. “I think I have been losing myself a bit. Losing sight of things. But can you really blame me?”

“I don’t,” Karl said. “I just want you back.”

He pressed a soft kiss to Quackity’s cheek, and left. 

Quackity slid down to curl in on himself on the ground, wondering if Karl was right. Had he been losing himself? What really mattered to him?

The safety of his friends, of the people of L’Manburg, that was what was important. He was certain that the best way to ensure that was by establishing power for himself. He could do it. He could take on Dream. He could protect them. He could make sure Sapnap and Karl were safe, if only people would  _ listen to him- _

“Q,” a voice said beside him- he recognized it as Niki’s lilting tone, with something harsh beneath it. “Get up.”

“I’m up.” He pushed himself to his feet and Karl from his mind. “No Sam?” he asked Bad.

“Sam’s a softie,” Bad shrugged. “Like I’ve said, we don’t always act as a unit. I’m surprised to see you here, though, Niki. I would think with your past experiences of war-”

“The same as Quackity’s, you mean?”

“We just figured you’d be in agreement with Puffy,” Ant said. “She hates war.”

“I hate it too,” Niki said, “but what else is there?”

That was the part Karl would never understand. Until Dream was gone, until the threat to L’Manburg was gone, war was inevitable. Dream was the cause of everything, the only aggressor that remained, and it was in his nature to tear down everything they had built. There was only one choice. There was only one way.

“Look, I’ll be transparent here,” Quackity said. “My main goal is to kill Dream. I want him dead. Does anyone have a problem with that?”

They shook their heads. “He’s had his chances to get better and he’s only gotten worse, unfortunately,” Bad said. “I’ll miss him, but only the version of him that’s already dead.”

“That’s our mission. With Dream gone, the rest of our problems disappear with him, so that’s our primary objective, and whatever gets in the way of that objective…” Quackity looked at Bad, Ant, and Niki. None of them seemed reluctant in the slightest. He grinned. “We take care of it.”

“By whatever means necessary,” Bad said.

“By whatever means necessary,” Niki agreed.

“The main problem is, there’s only four of us,” Quackity said. “I’d prefer to get more. I’m guessing Skeppy isn’t an option.”

“Skeppy stays at home,” Bad said firmly. “I don’t want him to get involved. Yesterday was a fluke, thankfully.”

“Well,” Niki said, “I might know a guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you'll never guess who niki's talking about
> 
> anyway, how disturbing of a story are you guys willing to read? no reason for asking i'm just curious. i have not been reading purplesunsets fics so don't ask. tags might change tomorrow idk


	38. Sapnap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this and the next couple chapters that follow it are the result of me specifically searching up super bloody and violent fics on a whim a few days ago and getting inspired. i've stated before that i don't do any research for this story, and that's still pretty much true. i've done a few google searches, but the medical and scientific information you're about to see in this chapter and the two that follow it are largely bullshit. i'm presenting it with confidence anyway because i don't care. enjoy

When Dream and George returned with an unconscious Punz in tow, Sapnap didn’t know how to feel. At least it seemed like George was agreeing with Dream more, which was good, because Sapnap hated feeling torn between them. 

He and Punz were friends. They’d fought side by side against L’Manburg, in constant competition. It was good to have him back, even if he was heavily bandaged and handcuffed to a bed. Sapnap had caught a glimpse of Punz’s mangled-looking wound when Dream and Tommy were treating it, and it hadn’t been pretty. He wouldn’t be escaping anytime soon. 

George refused to speak about what had happened, and Dream assured him that Punz would recover eventually, and that he’d shot at Dream and George first. He suggested that Sapnap be the first to talk to Punz when he woke up, and for him to be friendly, which wouldn’t be difficult at all.

Dream installed a lock on the spare bedroom, telling Sapnap he could visit Punz whenever he liked. All he had to do was inform Dream beforehand and knock when he wanted to leave. Sapnap wanted to be there when Punz woke up, because he knew what it was like. He had hated all those times he woke up alone in the dark. 

When Punz finally regained consciousness, Sapnap had been drifting off, but he jolted awake so the first thing his friend saw would be a friendly face. He’d be scared, confused, in pain. He needed all the help he could get.

Punz sat up and strained against the cuff that held him to the bed, clearly in a panic at the discovery that he was trapped here. His free arm went to the wound on his stomach, and he sighed in relief to find it bandaged. His eyes moved to Sapnap. “Please tell me you’re here to get me out of here.”

“Sorry, man,” Sapnap said with a shrug. “But I do want to help you.”

“He got you too? Come on.” His head fell back onto the pillow in frustration. 

“It’s not like that, I promise,” Sapnap said.

“No, it’s exactly like that. Forget it, dude. Catch me up. How screwed am I?”

“You’ll be okay, I think. Dream already got his anger out of his system, he knows you're injured and he doesn't want you dead. If you don’t fuck anything up after this, you’ll be fine. I’ll help you, I’ll explain it, I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Punz took a deep breath, not meeting his eyes. “I’m.. scared.”

“I know. It’ll be okay.”

“Can you, uh, give me a hug?”

Sapnap was surprised by the request, but he didn’t hesitate. “Of course.” He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Punz, trying to avoid jostling his wound.

Within moments, the familiar weight at his side was missing and the barrel of his own gun was pressed against his head.

“Please don’t do this,” Sapnap said, trying to keep his voice steady as Punz shrugged his way out of Sapnap's arms. “It’s not a good idea. If you give it back, I promise I won't mention it to Dream. You can’t get out of this one, man. You’re handcuffed, the door’s locked and I don’t have a key. Dream could kill you. I really, really don't want that to happen.”

“Then I’ll go out the window,” Punz said casually, firing at the chain that connected the two cuffs. They separated, and he held up his hand in triumph, the broken chain dangling from the cuff. “I can take you with me, you know. If you want.”

“That’s not happening,” Sapnap said. “Dream will have heard the gunshot. I don’t know what I’ll do. Please, just- I’ll try to explain it to him-” He was losing this fight, he knew. It was all going horribly wrong and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Punz didn't seem to be taking this seriously at all, and he was going to end up dead.

“Everything okay in there?” Dream’s voice came from outside the door. Punz kept the gun in his hand, but moved to the window and attempted to open it. Sapnap had watched Dream nail it shut, and he heard Punz groan as he discovered that fact. 

“Let me help you,” Sapnap said in a low voice. “Please.”

“Dream, if you don’t let me leave, I’ll shoot Sapnap,” Punz loudly announced, pressing the barrel of the gun against Sapnap’s head once more. “I’ll kill him. I swear. Just let me go.”   


“No, you won’t,” Dream replied without hesitation. 

“I will. I mean it.”

“Okay, then do it.”   
  
Punz fired. Sapnap’s ear stung and began ringing so loudly that it took him a moment to realize that Punz had hit the opposite wall, and not Sapnap at all. Not that he’d really believed Punz would ever shoot him, but it had happened so fast.

“You didn’t shoot him.” 

“I did,” Punz answered. “In the foot.”

“No, he didn’t,” Sapnap said.

“Dude!” Punz hissed at him. “Why? I thought you said you would help me!”

“Alright, that’s enough. I’m coming in.” The door opened, and Dream entered, mask on, gun in hand. “I would rather not have to kill you, Punz. Hand over the gun, and I’ll let you live.”

Punz shot him, four times, directly in the heart.

“Holy shit,” Punz’s voice floated down from somewhere above. “Holy shit.”   
  
Sapnap had lost consciousness for a split second, or at least, that was his hypothesis. He had been standing up, but now he was on the ground, and he felt for a moment as if he was floating in a bucket of water.

“Are you okay?” Punz asked. Sapnap nodded numbly. “Good. We need to get out of here.” He offered Sapnap a hand, and Sapnap took it and let Punz pull him to his feet. “I think he’s dead.”

“Why would you kill him?” Sapnap was in shock, the world spinning around him. “You couldn’t just leave him unconscious?”

“I don’t know. Look, you can argue with me once we get the hell out of here, right now we need to leave while the adrenaline lasts. We gotta head for L’Manburg or something.” 

Sapnap’s heart was pounding in his chest. “No, Punz, I can’t- I can’t handle this. Please. Wait for me.” He latched on to the bedpost and sat down, trying to take deep breaths, trying not to hyperventilate, trying not to look at Dream’s body on the floor.

“Okay, I’ll be right back, let me just-”

Punz was interrupted by Dream stabbing him in the ankle.

He let out a cry and fell to the ground. Dream propped himself up on his elbow, one hand uselessly clutching at the space over his heart, and, as Sapnap screamed helplessly, dug the knife into Punz’s throat. Sapnap frantically pried Dream’s hand away and tossed the knife across the room. Tears streamed down his face as he yelled at the top of his lungs for someone to help him. 

“Damn,” Tommy said, standing at the door. “Deja vu.”

“Help,” Sapnap choked out, gesturing uselessly at the bloody scene before him.

“Yeah, I got this.” Tommy lifted Dream, who had stopped moving again, by his upper arms. “He’s still got a pulse. He’ll survive. I’ll take care of it.” He glanced over at Punz. “I don’t care whether you try to save his life or not, but if you do, put pressure on the wound. Ankle’s not your priority, doesn’t look bad, but he’ll bleed out pretty fast from the neck. Check his pulse, check his breathing, do CPR if necessary. Chest palpitations, mouth-to-mouth and all that.”

“Did Dream teach you all this?” Sapnap asked, blurting the first thing that popped into his head. He felt like an idiot, asking irrelevant questions when two people were bleeding out on the floor.

“Knew it beforehand,” Tommy said. “I’m taking the van. Be back in a day at most, if he lives.”

Sapnap didn’t ask when Tommy would be back if Dream didn’t live. That possibility was closed off, unacceptable. What would they do if Dream died? Nothing, it wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t.   


As Tommy left, Sapnap searched for a cloth. He gave up and pulled the sheet from the bed, holding it to Punz’s throat and pushing down while searching for a pulse with his other hand. It was still there, and he breathed a sigh of relief, pressing his ear to Punz’s chest to listen to his breathing. 

“Oh, shit,” George observed from behind him. Sapnap whirled around, and George threw his hands up in a mock-surrender. “Relax, it’s just me. Is Punz dead already? That didn’t last long.”

“He’s not dead,” Sapnap said, “he- he shot Dream. Dream stabbed him.” His hand was soaked in blood, but he kept applying pressure and hoping against hope the bleeding would stop before Punz died of blood loss.

“Well. You gonna save his life?”

“I’m fucking trying,” Sapnap spat.   


“Not Punz. Dream. Where’d he go?” 

“Tommy took him. Probably back to the lab, I’m guessing.” Sapnap couldn’t tell, but he thought the blood flow was slowing down. “Could you maybe help me with his ankle?”

George took the other end of the sheet and ripped off a piece in his hands, grunting slightly at the effort it took. He moved to press it to Punz’s ankle, but stopped, frozen, staring at the wound instead.

“Dude.” Sapnap waved a hand in front of George’s face. “You good?” 

“Yeah.” George pushed down and closed his eyes.

“You still hate blood, don’t you.”

His shoulders were hunched, his back arched in apparent agony. “I wish that were the problem.”

“Are you okay? Do you need to leave?”

“No, don’t worry.”

Sapnap waited for George to suggest that they escape, that they take Punz and run to L’Manburg. He wasn’t sure what his answer would be this time. He wasn’t sure what to think at all. 

But George said nothing else. He continued applying pressure, eyes closed, teeth gritted, dull and lifeless and afraid. Just like Sapnap felt. 

This was it. This was all it would ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing a much shorter time traveler karl fic, it's going to be like eight or nine chapters, max, and i think the first chapter is coming out tonight or tomorrow! it's karlnap centric, fairly angsty but also with plenty of fluff. so if you like my writing be on the lookout for it! 
> 
> i won't let it interrupt updates for this fic though, so don't worry. i just wanted to do something shorter and softer and with room for some poetry. it's got song chapter titles and everything, all artsy and shit.


	39. Tommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> painting the town red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter that follows is very graphic. lots of blood and gross stuff.

With one hand, he applied pressure to Dream’s chest. With the other, he taught himself to drive.

He’d driven before, only a few times. Way back when he was twelve years old, a very drunk Wilbur had allowed him behind the wheel of Phil’s minivan, and he’d managed to successfully navigate the backroads and bring them back home, at which point Phil yelled at the two of them for about seventy years. Tommy had tried pointing out that he’d only ran the van into a ditch twice, and really, that wasn’t bad for his first try, but Phil hadn't seen it that way at all.

The second time, he and Tubbo had stolen Techno’s truck and left tire marks in the parking lot outside the community house. Techno was furious and tried to kill them both, but they’d hid behind Wilbur, who protected them from Techno's rage and then yelled at them afterwards. It had been worth it, Tommy reflected, because he was about to need all the experience he could get.

He put the keys in the ignition and started the car, putting it into drive and shakily pulling out of the driveway. All good so far. He left town without being spotted, as far as he knew, though it didn’t really matter if they saw.

Tommy was not a navigator, but he had a good memory, so he drove to the old house first and then to the lab, even though doing so would be a longer trip. He didn’t want to risk getting lost and taking even longer. He drove slowly at first, but there were no other cars on the road, so he sped up eventually, driving in the center of the road just to be sure he wouldn’t veer off the edge. In the seat beside him, he could hear Dream’s heartbeat gradually slowing. He couldn’t afford to take his time, and he definitely couldn’t afford to crash. 

The tricky part was getting Dream through the little hatch in the floor, but he managed. Blood was everywhere and he didn’t even try to stop it. That wasn’t important, either.

He set Dream down on the table that he himself had laid on back when he’d been infected. It seemed like something that had happened to someone else, a strange story he’d heard once, nothing real. He flicked the light on above him, tore away the shredded fabric of Dream’s shirt that clung to his blood-soaked skin, and took the tweezers he’d grabbed on his way out of the house from his pocket.

He’d actually done this before. Tubbo had been shot in the leg back in the first war, and Tommy was assigned to pry the bullet out. Both of them had screamed and cried the entire time, as Wilbur watched in amusement, not wanting to get his hands dirty. It had been worth it, because afterwards he’d been so kind, the way he used to be when they were kids. It was a kindness that lasted for days. 

Then Dream had attacked again, and that kindness was shattered.

Tommy got to work. He dug the tweezers into the first bullet hole, ignoring the blood that hadn’t stopped flowing or even slowed down, ignoring the blood vessels he was probably rupturing in the process. He found the first slug and pulled it out. That one was just above the heart, it hadn’t hit anything essential. It would be the easiest one.

Any of the rest of them could kill Dream.

Tommy was sure anyone in Dream’s place, including him, would have died on the way, or, more likely, on the floor back at the house. None of the bullets Techno took had hit his heart, though one had come close, but all three of the remaining rounds inside Dream’s chest were in the right spot to be fatal. There was no reason for why his heart was still beating. There was no reason why he continued to breathe, even as his blood streamed freely down to the floor and lapped at Tommy’s shoes, staining everything in sight.

This miracle wouldn’t, couldn’t last. Even Dream’s luck had to run out at some point, right?

All Tommy could do was keep going.

He dug out the second one, blood spraying across his face in the process. He tasted it on his lips and frowned, but ignored it. He went in for the third one, then the fourth. At that point, Dream’s body was shutting down entirely, preparing for death. Everything was painted the same shade of red. It was enough to make even someone who was used to seeing a lot of blood feel dizzy and faint.

He dumped the four slimy, blood-slick slugs on the stainless steel surgical tray beside him and remembered what Dream had told him the last time he’d been here.  _ “They came up with a way to motivate me to be their little zombie killing machine. Some kind of drug.” _

He’d only ever seen the top floor to this place. The cabinet with the four vials was empty but for those, and they wouldn’t help. He had to take the staircase.

_ “No idea what it was, and I never found any more of it here…” _

Dream had told him at some point that he’d never fully explored the bottom floor, not even before he’d been taken captive. There were giant freezers and coolers down there, storing away god knew what. If Tommy could find what Dream needed, he could save his life.

Did he even want to?

He pushed that thought away. Without Dream, he didn’t have a purpose. He didn’t have any reason to keep going. It was easier this way, to complete the tasks Dream asked of him, to keep moving, to stop thinking. He pushed open the door to the staircase, ignoring the blood and gore caked on his hands. As he descended, he dragged his hands against the walls, leaving fresh bloody streaks of color against the faded and peeling paint.

It was darker still on the lowest floor. Both fresh and long-faded footprints disturbed the heavy layer of dust that smothered everything. Tommy headed for the far corner, knowing to avoid the left side where the corpses were, where the old footprints led. Techno’s or Phil’s, he didn’t know. He wondered what they thought about it, what they knew, but he doubted he’d ever get to ask them. 

He couldn’t stand around wondering what to do when Dream was dying upstairs, so he pulled on the giant cooler door and propped it open with one of his bloody shoes. He dug a small flashlight from his pocket, a keychain, really, and peered at the shelves around him, most of them empty.

He ignored the petri dishes, passed over the lab samples, wondering if any of the blood in those vials was Dream’s. On a shelf at about eye level, he found dozens and dozens of syringes of some kind of liquid, labeled clearly,  _ DO NOT USE,  _ and a meaningless jumble of letters that would probably mean something to a doctor or scientist.

It was time to take a gamble. He grabbed two of them, just in case the first one didn’t produce good enough results, and returned upstairs. He attached the hypodermic needle, hesitating for a moment over Dream’s dying body.

_ “Suddenly I was thinking somewhat clearly, and then I killed them all.” _

He decided to risk it.

He inserted the needle into Dream’s wrist, and the effect was almost immediate. Dream sat up with a gasp and his hand found Tommy’s wrist, which he held in a death grip as he breathed heavily. “Well,” he said, eyes still closed. “That was an experience.” He was a mess, his face almost entirely covered in blood, his clothes completely ruined. His hair was slick with it too, stuck together in clumps and dyed a miserable red with only small patches of the faded blond color visible beneath. Tommy knew he wasn't any better off than Dream. He looked at his own hand, the one Dream wasn't grasping on to like a drowning man, at his fingernails caked with Dream's blood. 

“Feeling particularly murderous?” Tommy asked. His other hand was losing circulation at an alarming pace.

“Naturally, but I’m not about to take it out on you.” Dream released him and sank back down to the table, coughing up awful red chunks and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “You removed the slugs, right?” 

“Of course. I’m not an idiot.” 

“That’s good.” Dream’s hands explored the wounds on his chest, which, to Tommy’s surprise, had finally stopped bleeding. In fact, they were healing before his eyes. “This won’t last too long. I need food, water, immediately. Maybe a second dose before I pass out.”

“This isn’t what you gave me,” Tommy said, “right?”

“Nope. What you got was an espresso shot in comparison.” Tommy passed Dream a few cans from his backpack. Dream pried them open with his hands, opening fresh cuts on his fingers in the process, and chugged them down without thinking. He spoke with a mouth full of sludge. “This could kill me as easy as a few bullets to the heart, if I didn’t give it something to do.” He swallowed. “On second thought, do not give me a second dose under any fucking circumstances. If you have more, smash it.”

Tommy threw the second syringe to the ground, and it shattered. Dream seemed almost ready to jump to the floor and lap it up, the way he looked at it. “What do you mean, give it something to do?”

“It’s healing me,” Dream explained. “Look.”

Tommy took a second look at the bullet wounds. They weren’t healed over by any means, and they would certainly scar, but there was no longer any need to worry over them. “Holy shit. Maybe we should take some of this stuff home with us.”

“Nope,” Dream said firmly. “Can’t have it near me. Don’t you dare tell me where you found it, either.” He chugged an entire water bottle and held his hand out for Tommy to pass him a second one. The cuts he'd just opened were already healed over, too. “You did a good job, though. I’m impressed.”

“I don’t understand how you lived,” Tommy confessed. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“You and me both,” Dream said. “So, I’m about to lose consciousness again. Don’t bother cleaning up in here, but get me back in the car. Don’t go back to town yet. Wait for me to wake up again.” 

“I’ll find some zombies for you to cut up,” Tommy said.

Dream grinned. “You know me so well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first chapter of my new fic, called "traveler, what have you seen?" is up now ! it's got karlnap and time travel and way more fluff than this story and an actual healthy romance, if you can believe it. it won't have daily updates like this fic because i would probably die if i tried to do that, but i won't abandon it before it's finished, i promise. check it out :)


	40. Correspondence #4

_ Quackity, _

_ Things could not be any worse. Do you want the bad news or the bad news first? _

_ Dream’s got someone else on his side. I don’t have a clue who it is, and nothing he said gave me any hints. Apparently it’s complicated, and Tommy doesn’t know anything either. Not to throw more distrust into your ranks, but watch out. I don’t have to tell you not to trust anyone. You already don’t. _

_ Two days ago Dream and I went to recruit Punz, because I made the mistake of mentioning him. I regret the shit out of it now, because I’m writing this with my hands fully covered in blood. There will definitely be blood stains on this letter. Nothing I can do about that, sorry. _

_ I’ll give you a summary of events. Punz wasn’t interested in helping out. Dream stabbed him and threw him in a locked room. Sapnap went in there for some reason, Punz managed to get his hands on Sapnap’s gun, he shot Dream four times, Dream stabbed him again, this time in the throat. Sapnap’s fine, although he’s traumatized three times over now, I’m sure. Punz is barely clinging to life, and Tommy whisked Dream off before I knew what was happening. I wish I could say I thought Dream was dead, but I know there’s no way I’d ever be lucky enough for that to happen. _

_ I don’t think there’s any way Dream lets Punz live after this, so there’s a good chance my next letter includes the news of his death. Sorry about that in advance. You guys in L’Manburg probably didn’t like him much anyway, since he tried to kill all of you at some point. Bad and Ant will probably be upset, though. _

_ My head’s a mess right now. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. If the letters stop coming, I’m sorry. I tried. I hope things are going better for you. _

_ George _


	41. George

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: bloody i guess, but idk its just fucking disturbing

After hours of helping Sapnap keep Punz alive, George delivered the latest letter to Quackity and threw himself on the couch the moment he stumbled into the room. Blood was everywhere across the house. Tommy dragging Dream outside to the van had left a long trail, and Punz’s blood was everywhere too, mostly on George’s and Sapnap’s hands and clothes. It was so much worse than last time.

He had stayed in that room as long as possible, but the urge to finish the job, to take his knife and wring out the last drops of blood, the last bits of life left in Punz’s veins, was too strong. He had to distance himself, clear his head, get some rest. He had to stop thinking about the blood.

A much more difficult objective when he was covered in it.

He didn’t know at what point he had drifted off, but he woke in late afternoon to the sound of the van pulling up in the driveway. From the window he could see streaks of brown staining the van’s white exterior, and when Dream emerged from the passenger side door, his clothes were entirely blood-soaked, ruined in the mire. George closed his eyes again, pretending to be asleep.

Only moments later he felt Dream’s hand in his hair, blood-stained fingers on blood-stained strands, and a soft, unwilling noise escaped his lips. He heard Tommy’s feet on the stairs, giving them space. He reached for Dream.

“I’m back,” Dream whispered. “Did you miss me?”

“Are you dead?” George breathed in return. “Sapnap said you were dead.”

“I don’t think I can be dead. But someone else definitely can.”

“Are you going to kill Punz?”

“Most likely. Want to watch? It’s up to you.”

He didn’t, and he was so, so thankful for that fact.   
  
Dream broke away as Tommy and Sapnap thundered down the stairs. Tommy was carrying a still-unconscious Punz, whom he dumped unceremoniously on the other couch. “Please,” Sapnap begged, trailing after him, “please don’t kill him. I worked so hard. George and I worked so hard.”

“He tried to kill me,” Dream said. “You remember that, right? You were there for it.”

“I know,” Sapnap said miserably. “He won’t do it again. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll do what I have to, I’ll do whatever you tell me, but please, please don’t kill him, Dream- I’ll do anything.”

Dream stared callously, his hand toying with the handle of one of his knives. “What could you possibly do that makes up for what he did?”

“You could hurt me instead.” George shivered in disgust at the desperation in Sapnap’s voice. He didn’t want Sapnap hurt again. “I can handle it,” Sapnap insisted. “I’m stronger now.”

“Tommy, what do you think?” Dream asked. “Should I kill Punz or not?”

Tommy kept the same bored expression on his face as he always did. “I don’t care whether he lives or dies.”

“George?”

George knew the correct answer, the one he was supposed to say. The one Sapnap wanted to hear. But he sat there, his arms covered in dried blood up to his elbows, feeling as if he’d never be fully clean again, and the words _don’t kill him_ refused to leave his mouth. “I don’t know,” he said instead. “Whatever. Just don’t hurt Sapnap.”

“George, come on, you’re better than that,” Sapnap pleaded. “Tell Dream not to kill him. He’ll listen to you.”

“Fine,” George said. “Dream, please don’t hurt Punz, not right now.”

Sapnap sighed in relief, and Dream just laughed, because he heard what George hadn’t said. _Dream, please don’t hurt Punz, not right now. But maybe later._

Punz woke up eventually, his voice nothing but a faint rasping noise. He didn’t try to speak after an initial failed attempt. Dream kept Sapnap away from him, and George didn’t care. Punz had fucked things up for all of them, he deserved what he was getting in George’s opinion.

“He’s starting to recover,” Dream reported a few days later. “He’d probably survive another injury at this point, I think. I have some ideas.”

“You don’t need my permission to go stab him again,” George said tiredly. “Sapnap will hate you, though, if you do.” Something in the back of his mind reminded him that he was supposed to care whether or not Punz got hurt, but he was rapidly forgetting which impulses to listen to and which to ignore. He was exhausted.

“I don’t think I’m going to stab him,” Dream said. “There’s no point keeping him around unless he’s going to help us out, and he’s not going to be very useful if he keeps getting horribly wounded. I do have a solution to this problem, though, and I want to hear your opinion on it.”

George nodded, and Dream whispered his plan into his ear. 

“Do you have a problem with it?” Dream asked.

He felt sick. He felt vile. He’d washed the blood away days ago, but he felt like he was still swimming in it, soaked up to his chest.

“No,” he said.

“Do you want to come watch?”

“ _No_ ,” he said, with as much conviction as he could manage. It didn’t sound convincing, even to him.

He heard Dream enter the room where Punz was being kept.

He heard the sound of a struggle, but there were no cries of anguish. In their place there was a mangled sort of choking noise, a voiceless scream. He heard the sound of Dream’s voice, but he couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t anything he wanted to hear. 

George was floating, the couch beneath him as insubstantial as the thoughts in his head, the inside of his mouth full of cotton. It felt like his teeth were shifting around, and his tongue didn’t fit right among them. Maybe he deserved that. He got to his feet, but the ground underneath him wasn’t any better. Even as he squeezed individual carpet strands between his toes, he couldn’t feel it.

He heard Dream return downstairs. In his hands he held something wrapped up in several layers of paper towels, something that easily seeped an ugly shade of red. Dream quickly threw it into the trash before washing his hands and returning to George’s side. It was so fast. It shouldn’t have been that simple. It shouldn’t have been that inconsequential.

Of course, he couldn’t be sure it hadn’t taken Dream longer. When he was in this state, hours could be minutes, minutes could be hours.

“I love you,” Dream whispered.

“I love you,” George answered. It wasn’t true. That was all he had left. 

He dreamed of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh. what happened there.


	42. Correspondence #5

_ George, _

_ Karl needs Sapnap back. I don’t know what else to do. Is Sapnap any closer to better? Maybe just drag him back home while he’s sleeping or something. That’s a joke, but I’m getting close to that level of desperation at this point.  _

_ I told Bad about Punz, and he’s pissed. We’ve got a plan, though. I’m not going to put any of it in writing, because even that might be too dangerous. It sounds like you don’t need the stress anyway. Bad says to hang in there, and that he believes in you.  _

_ There’s not much else to say. We’re ready for war now, as ready as we’ll ever get, anyway. I’m guessing Dream’s plans have been put on hold for a bit if he’s badly injured. If you can give us any kind of advance notice, I’d appreciate it. _

_ Quackity _

  
  



	43. Quackity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jack manifold is in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this book requires a lot of suspension of disbelief, but this chapter in particular introduces a major flaw into the story, courtesy of none other than jack manifold.
> 
> it's been heavily implied that the story takes place somewhere in the eastern area of the united states. i didn't get specific because it doesn't really matter where it takes place, it won't affect the story. i put phil and his family as native to america, and pretty much anyone else who isn't american is as well. however, in this chapter, i have allowed jack manifold to be aggressively british. 
> 
> what explanation could i offer you to defend this choice? i could say that he's simply from britain but ended up in the us for the apocalypse, i could try to extend this courtesy to other non-american characters, but i have done none of that. instead, i have plunged the story into an alternate universe hellscape where jack is the only one who gets to be british, there is no reason whatsoever, everyone just rolls with it, and he might eventually break the fourth wall. he will barely be plot-relevant, but i've said that before and then changed it so don't hold me to it. 
> 
> that is all. have a terrible day.
> 
> one last thing, i would like to extend a formal apology to punz for yesterday. he will never see this of course but i feel bad regardless.

Jack Manifold was fucking impossible.

“Just because we have a common goal,” he said when he accompanied Niki to their next furtive meeting, “does not mean I fuck with any of you L’Manburg fuckers.”

“We’re not associated with L’Manburg,” Bad said, gesturing to himself and Ant. 

“Well, you’re friends with them, and that’s just as bad, innit?”

“Aren’t you friends with Niki?” Quackity asked.

“That’s different.” He refused to elaborate on how it was different. “Listen, assholes, I want Dream dead. I also want Tommy dead. That’s about it. If you can help me get there, I will hate you all slightly less.”   


“Well, we’re not killing Tommy, so go ahead and forget about that one. But yeah, killing Dream is the plan, and Niki said you could help. If you want to kill Tommy on your own time, good fucking luck.” 

Niki and Jack exchanged a look that Quackity did not care for. He ignored it. “Is this it? The five of us, we’re going to kill Dream?” Bad asked, trying to break the tension.

“Six, actually, if you don’t mind.”

They all turned towards the direction the voice was coming from to see Eret standing half in shadow, a long shawl draped over their shoulders, leaning against the doorway. One of their legs was propped against the doorframe, and even though it was dark, they wore sunglasses to cover their eyes.

“Good evening, gentlemen. And lady.” They swept up the long skirt they were wearing and approached the group, their heeled boots clicking the floor with each step. Quackity was certain Eret had put on this getup specifically for the dramatic appeal, and while he couldn’t fault them for it, he could certainly distrust them for other reasons.

“Eret,” Niki said with a faint smile. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“You invited them? You said you knew  _ a guy,  _ Niki, not a guy and a fucking traitor.”

“Ah, yes,” Eret said. “The three genders. Guys, girls and fucking traitors.” Niki giggled, and Ant quirked a smile as well. Quackity rolled his eyes.

“If I remember correctly, didn’t Eret betray Wilbur?” Jack said. “And Wilbur was a bad fucking guy, right? We’re all in agreement there? So what’s the problem?”

“Look, Big Q, I’ve apologized for that over and over,” Eret said. “I’ve made up for it since. The kids forgive me. Niki forgives me. You don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want to, but you should believe me when I say I want Dream dead as much as the rest of you, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

It wasn’t that Quackity didn’t forgive Eret. He didn’t actually care that deeply about the betrayal, not after two years, not when Eret had, as they claimed, long made up for it. Nor did he distrust Eret when they said they wanted Dream dead. There was a genuine anger in their eyes when they spoke those words that would be hard to fake. 

So what was the problem? What bothered him so much about Eret that he couldn’t seem to trust them? Quackity couldn’t put his finger on it, but his subconscious had yet to steer him wrong. But he had zero evidence of anything, so he’d look like a huge ass if he refused to let Eret join them. He’d have to let this happen.

“Fine,” Quackity said. “I won’t deny we could use the help. It’s Dream, after all. He’ll kick any of our asses without breaking a sweat. We have to ban together.”

“That’s something I’ve been thinking about, actually,” Bad said. “You all saw Technoblade get shot like that. You all saw him fight Tommy. Something’s going on there, right? Something that makes him different than any of us taking three bullets to the chest. Any of us in this room, we’d be dead, right?”

“Not me,” Jack said. “I’m built different.”

Bad ignored him. “I’m thinking we get someone to talk to Techno or Phil about it, because Phil’s obviously in on it too, he’s Techno’s dad. Didn’t seem surprised at all that Techno was still alive when we brought him to their house. My working theory on this right now is, whatever’s up with Techno is the same thing that’s up with Dream. Possibly Tommy, too. Tommy never stood a chance against Techno before. Techno was genuinely caught off guard when they started fighting.”

“You mean, they’re all built different too.”

“Are you taking this seriously at all?” Quackity asked Jack. “It’s not a joke. We’re planning a murder right now. Do you want to be a part of this or not? What do you even bring to the table, anyway?”

“Hey, man,” Jack said, “I bring a lot of shit to the table.” He ignored Bad’s mumbled warning of  _ language.  _ “Unlike the rest of you, I’m perfectly willing to fight dirty.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“All this talk about how strong he is, how we can’t kill him with a few bullets. Bollocks, we don’t need to! The man doesn’t protect himself at all, he’s just wearing that stupid green jacket, no bulletproof vest or anything. We shoot him a whole bunch until he’s down, then we cut off his head like he’s a zombie. Unless he’s a god, he’s not coming back from that. Problem solved.”

“That’s just stupid enough to work, actually,” Bad said. “If he can bleed, he can die, right?”

“Perfect,” Eret agreed. “It’s perfect. Jack, you’re a genius.”

“Believe me,” Jack said, “I already know.”

“Alright, but this stuff that makes him stronger,” Quackity said. He hadn’t stopped thinking about what gave Techno his strength since Techno had been shot. It was constantly on his mind. Strength was a type of power Quackity certainly did not possess, but if he could get it, what would stop him then? “Do we know what it is? Was he always this strong? How could we get our hands on this, maybe even use it against him?”

“I can answer that second question,” Bad said. “Ant and I knew him in college. He definitely wasn’t always strong.”

“He was kind of a wimp, actually,” Ant added. “Always getting sick, always staying home from parties and cancelling plans, always working.”

“So obviously, something big happened to him. We should try to find out what.” Quackity wanted to be the one to find it out, but he knew his approach would not work on Techno. “Niki, I’m thinking you should be the one to speak to Techno. He’s got a bit of a soft spot for you, doesn’t he? Use your sweetest voice, don’t make it feel like an interrogation. And in the meantime, if any of you sees Dream…” 

They all leaned in in anticipation.

“Shoot to kill, and don’t stop when he’s down.”

Five nods of agreement, five devious grins, and one truly villainous laugh from Jack Manifold. 

Quackity returned home and sharpened his knives. Soon, he promised, he’d be cleaning them of Dream’s blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have written an ending! i think it is satisfying enough that it'll live up to the expectations this story has built for itself which is all i really wanted. no spoilsies but it was a lot of fun to write >:)
> 
> the end isn't too soon but we are more than halfway there by now. i think. i've got it mostly plotted out in my head, probably. things don't get any less bloody so don't worry, the pain will not end


	44. Sapnap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the countless callahan stans out there, today i bring you a single mention of callahan's existence. you're welcome.

“You’re okay! Holy shit, dude, you’re actually alive!” 

Punz nodded, his eyes blinking in exhaustion at Sapnap’s return. It had been days since Sapnap had seen him, but he didn’t look any worse for the wear. He swallowed and winced, but accepted Sapnap’s hug without complaint.

Well, of course it was without complaint. His throat was all wrapped up where Dream had stabbed him, and according to Dream, his voice hadn’t recovered yet. That was where the gift came in.

“I got you something, man.” Sapnap pulled out the little notebook and pen Dream had given him. “So we can talk. Dream said your throat wasn’t feeling any better yet. You can write stuff in the notebook, and I’ll read it and respond. And, look, Dream didn't say you had to show it to him. So if you write something bad, I’ll tear it out and destroy it. Don’t worry.”

Punz accepted the notebook and opened it up to the first blank page, where he simply wrote,  _ hey, Sapnap. _

“Hey,” Sapnap responded softly. He felt sure, in the past few days, that Dream had killed Punz and secretly disposed of his body, but hadn’t wanted to tell him. He’d been dreading the day Dream finally admitted it and his hopes would run out. “I’m so, so glad you’re okay.”

_ Should probably have learned sign language for Callahan, huh? You know it, right? You could teach me some. _

“Teach you sign language?” Sapnap frowned. “I could, I guess, but I don’t think you’ll need to use it for long.”

_ You’re probably right. I’ll die before I learn enough to be worth it. _

“No, I didn’t mean that! I just meant your voice will come back and you won’t need it! Vocal cords can repair themselves, I asked Dream. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but you’ll get your voice back, Punz, I promise.”

_ I’m not so sure. _

“What does that mean?”

_ Forget it. _

Sapnap knew there had to be something Punz wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t let it stop him. “That’s okay. I mainly wanted to check in with you, see if your opinions had changed, if you were still, uh, planning any more escape attempts.”

A grimace broke out across Punz’s face.  _ I think I’ve learned my lesson, don’t worry. I’m not any happier to be here but I’m not an idiot either. _

“Good. That’s… that’s good.” Sapnap’s eyes darted to the door and back. “I wanted to ask, are you mad at me for what happened? Because I didn’t go along with you?”

_ Of course not. It’s Dream’s fault, not yours. You’re trying to save your own ass, I get it.  _

Sapnap breathed a sigh of relief. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. I was trying my best to protect you.”

_ I know. You did what you thought was best. I did what I thought was best, too. It’s over now. _

“I’ll still do it, though. I’ll still try to protect you. You’ll do what Dream asks, now, right? I know it sucks, but I really don’t want you hurt again.”

_ Yeah, yeah. I got it. Don’t worry. _

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about you again. Dream was going to kill you. I had to beg him not to, I had to get George to beg him not to. That was the weird part, actually, George didn’t seem to…” Sapnap didn’t know what he would have said after that had he not stopped himself. “Ugh. Never mind.”

_ I guess I should say thank you, then. You saved my life. _

“And I’d do it again,” Sapnap promised. Behind him, the door opened and Tommy entered with a plate of food. It was a familiar occurrence. Sapnap remembered every miserable meal he’d been forced to eat alone. He brought the plate over to Punz. “You hungry right now?”

_ Enough to eat a horse.  _ Sapnap laughed.  _ Thanks for everything, Sapnap, but can you please go now? _

“How come? I don’t mind staying here while you eat. I’ll get food later. I won’t take any of yours, don’t worry.”

_ I’m not worried you’ll take my food. I just don’t want you in here while I eat. No offense.  _

“Seriously, why not?”

_ Please leave. I’m sorry. _

Punz stared at him, setting the pen down and closing the notebook. Sapnap was very clearly being dismissed. “Okay, if that’s what you want.” He moved to knock on the door, but Tommy was already opening it for him. “I’ll be back tomorrow, or whenever Dream lets me. As often as I can.”

He shut the door and let Tommy watch as he locked it before going to the kitchen to get something to eat for himself. His stomach was growling, which was hardly an unusual occurrence. George was already there, perched on the countertop, seemingly doing nothing at all. When he saw Sapnap, his eyebrows raised, but he said nothing.

“How are you eating?” he asked George. He’d forgotten for a bit, but now that he remembered again, he resolved to make sure George wasn’t starving himself again.    


“Don’t worry about it.” 

Sapnap instantly began to worry about it. “Do you think anyone has ever stopped worrying about something because someone said not to?” he asked. 

“Probably not. Just seeing if you wanted to be the first.”

“You’re going to eat something while I watch,” he said, “or else.”

George shrugged and searched the pantry for something edible. He came up with more canned beans. Beans, corn, other noxious-tasting vegetables, canned ham and tuna, those were the apocalypse staples, now even more so since they no longer had access to Niki’s garden. It was a shit diet to live on, but they didn’t get another choice. 

“You’re not the only one with food problems anymore,” he said as George ate the beans one or two at a time, spearing each one with the fork with the ferocity of a young child being forced to eat his peas before he got dessert. “Punz wouldn’t let me sit in the room with him while he ate. Dunno why. I wonder if he’s eating. I’ll have to make sure next time.”

“Oh, wait, do you not know?” George asked, making a disgusted face as he swallowed. 

“Know what?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me  _ what _ ? I have no idea what you’re talking about, George.”

“I am  _ not  _ gonna be the one to tell you. Bother Dream about it if you want. Or ask Punz what’s up. It’s not gonna be me.” George said it with a certainty that made Sapnap not want to argue with him. “This shit tastes awful. Caught Dream in our room writing a letter, by the way. It was addressed to Tubbo.”

Sapnap didn’t miss that he’d changed the topic, but he went along with it. “What did it say?”

“Didn’t see. He wouldn’t let me. But it looks like he’s gearing up for another battle, so be ready for that. No idea what he expects of us.” George took a long swig of water and returned the bottle to the table with a resounding  _ thud. _ “Sapnap, I gotta ask you, if you could return to Karl and Quackity right now with no consequences, would you? No fear of Dream hunting you down?”

Sapnap stared at him in disbelief. Dream could easily be right around the corner. “I’m not just going to answer that.”

“Got it.” He probably did, too. That was as clear of an answer as Sapnap could stand to give. “Do you still love them?”

“I’m done with this.” Sapnap got up, his heart pounding, and began walking away. It wasn’t safe for him to be having this conversation. It wasn’t safe for him to be thinking this way. Some things were impossible.

“Does that mean I don’t have to finish these?” George called after him.

“You still have to eat them all.”

“Fuck you.” But he heard the sound of the fork scraping the inside of the metal can, and he breathed a sigh of relief. George may have been trying to get him killed, but he was eating, and that was a trade-off Sapnap could accept.

If he could return to his boyfriends with no consequences, would he? 

He didn’t let himself answer, even in his mind.


	45. Tubbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the kids aren't alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we just got a letter, we just got a letter, we just got a letter, wonder who it's from
> 
> this chapter, we explore the effects that long term war, violence and constant endangerment can have on a bunch of kids. remember, when this all started, the boys were 13, 14, and 15. that's fucked up. this is a conversation between three traumatized children. ok, have fun! :)

Tubbo showed the letter to Ranboo, of course. It was the first thing he thought to do once he’d finished reading it. Ranboo may not have any better idea how to handle the situation than Tubbo did, but at least he’d be a friend. Fundy came over later in the day to see them and Tubbo let him read it too, and the three of them puzzled over what to do about it.

“Dream’s lying,” was Fundy’s conclusion. “Don’t believe him.”

“What if he’s not, though?” Ranboo fretted. “He’s a lot of terrible things, but he’s not much of a liar, is he?”

“How would you know?” Fundy countered.

“I wouldn’t. But it says right here in my book. The one where I wax poetic about everybody’s moral character.” Ranboo waggled the slim volume tantalizingly in front of Tubbo’s face. 

“Lemme read what it says in there about me,” Tubbo said. “Since I’m about to go get killed by Dream and all.”

“Right, like we’d let you go get killed by Dream on your own,” Ranboo said, rolling his eyes. Fundy nodded his agreement. “You let us read the note that gave us the time and place he wants to meet you, so we’ll be there whether you like it or not.”

Tubbo sighed. “I didn’t realize that. I’m pretty stupid, aren’t I?”

“It says here that you’re stupid,” Ranboo said, flipping to a new page, and Tubbo attempted to snatch it from his hands. “Hey! It doesn’t really say that, I was kidding!”

“Prove it. Let me read it, then.”

“Absolutely not, unless you’d be willing to tell me every single stray thought you have about me, however weird it would be to say it out loud.”

It was difficult to convince Ranboo to let Tubbo read his books when he kept making excellent points on why Tubbo should not be allowed to read his books.

“He’s just embarrassed how much he’s written about how you’re his best friend,” Fundy said.

“I’m not embarrassed about that!” Ranboo said. “Tubbo is my best friend, I’m happy to say it.”

Tubbo knew he should have told Ranboo that he was his best friend, too. But he couldn’t. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it felt like he was betraying Tommy by doing so. 

Tommy hated Tubbo now. Tommy was on Dream’s side. He definitely was not Tubbo’s best friend anymore. But none of that mattered when Tubbo was lying awake at night missing him, remembering everything they’d done together, realizing over and over again how it was all destroyed. It wasn’t right to just write over Tommy and put Ranboo in his place, even if it was easier. 

“Okay, but,” Tubbo said, searching for a new topic. “Actually, though. You guys really shouldn’t come with me tomorrow. It could be dangerous.”

“Did you hear something?” Fundy asked Ranboo.

“No, I don’t think I did,” Ranboo answered. “Wanna go see Dream tomorrow, Fundy?”

“Sure!”

“Fine, but we should, like… get ready or something, right? We fought him back in the olden days, if it’s three versus one maybe we could beat him!” Tubbo resigned himself to Ranboo and Fundy coming with him. He couldn’t justify endangering himself but not letting his friends do the same.

“Eret doesn’t let me have a gun anymore,” Fundy said. “Says it’s fucked up.”

“It’s fucked up for any of us,” Ranboo pointed out. “But you know how to shoot it, you’ll be fine. It’s not like not giving you a gun will undo everything that happened. You have to protect yourself. Me and Tubbo have some extras, take one of them tomorrow.”

“Pew pew,” Fundy said, aiming a finger gun at Ranboo. “I’m gonna shoot Dream tomorrow.”

Tubbo laughed like it was funny and not sad. “Would you really?” he asked.

“I dunno. If he’s just shot you or Ranboo, then yeah. Or if he’s about to shoot at us.” Fundy shrugged. “What about you guys?”

“Same answer, pretty much,” Ranboo agreed. “Better him than us.”

“Well, I’m a huge pussy, so I don’t know what I’d do, to be honest.”

“You’re not a pussy, Tubbo,” Fundy said. “You’re really brave.”

Tubbo fucking wished that were true. Tommy was the brave one, not him. Tubbo was the one who kept getting hurt and kept falling behind and kept letting Dream have the upper hand. Wilbur had warned him over and over if he didn’t get his shit together, he would get himself killed. Maybe tomorrow would be that day.

It was what he deserved, anyway.

“I’m not gonna sleep tonight at all,” he said. “I’m gonna be up all night panicking.”

“Sounds fun!” Fundy cheered. “Panic sleepover?”

“Panic sleepover,” Ranboo agreed. “Hang on, lemme see the letter from Dream again.” Tubbo passed it to him, and he reread it, scribbling things down in one of his books. “Sorry, not to bring the conversation back to the letter, but-”

“Dream’s lying,” Fundy repeated stubbornly.

“What makes you so sure that he is?”

“Dream is a bad guy. He’s the bad guy and Q is a good guy, like us.”

The letter Dream had written accused Quackity of wanting to undermine Tubbo’s leadership, of wanting L’Manburg for himself. Tubbo couldn’t bring himself to reject Dream’s claims, no matter how hard he tried, but he didn’t accept them as truth either. 

“Do you not trust Big Q, Rambo?” Tubbo asked. 

“I-” Ranboo looked at the two of them. “I know you guys like him. I know he’s vice president, technically. But in my book it says not to trust him, and I trust past me more than I trust Quackity. I think we should at least consider the possibility that Dream is telling the truth.”

“But he’s my friend,” Fundy protested. 

“You mean you think he’s your friend. I wouldn’t be so confident.” Ranboo seemed genuinely upset. “I’m sorry, Fundy, I just really don’t think we can trust him. He keeps getting so angry every time I see him, so weird and secretive. I think Dream might be right with this one.”

“No,” Fundy insisted, getting teary-eyed, “Dream is never right, he’s the bad guy, that’s what Wilbur said-” He stopped, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Shit, shit, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Tubbo told him. 

“Eret told me not to talk about Wilbur, to just forget about him.”

“That’s pretty shit advice,” Tubbo said. “How are we supposed to forget about Wilbur?”

“ _I_ can’t even forget about Wilbur, and I’m me,” Ranboo added. “There’s no way you could. He was, like, your dad, wasn’t he?”

“Not my real dad,” Fundy said. “But, yeah, he was.” He looked down at the floor. “Eret’s a way better dad, but they don’t like me talking about Wilbur so much. They get upset when I say stuff about how I miss him. So I try not to.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Tubbo agreed. “Eret wouldn’t get it. They left real early. But if you ever need to talk about Wilbur, you can always do it with us.”

“Yeah,” Ranboo agreed. “I won’t even get sick of it, because I’ll just forget in a few hours. Tell us all about it, even if you think it’s a bad thing to say.”

“Fine,” Fundy said, gaining confidence, “I miss Wilbur! And you know what else I miss? I miss when we were all friends. When nobody was fighting. When I only had to fight zombies. I miss before the zombies when I still had a family and a little sister, and I miss all my friends at school, and I miss video games and- and-” He broke off, sniffling a little. “And I miss Tommy,” he said. “He was a really good friend. He was always nice to me when Wilbur wasn’t and he helped me out. We were kind of like a family, since he was Wilbur’s brother and Wilbur was like my dad- he really treated me like family, even though we didn’t know each other as long. I liked that.”

“I miss Tommy too,” Ranboo said. “He would always get me up in the mornings when I didn’t want to. I had so many nightmares back in the early days, and I was afraid to get out of bed in case they were real because I couldn’t remember if they’d happened or not. He’d always tell me what happened yesterday so I could be sure, and then he’d go be himself, screaming at the top of his lungs until he made me laugh.”

“I miss Tommy so much it hurts,” Tubbo said, lying flat on his back on the floor. “When the zombies came, everyone I knew was dead. I was miserable. I thought it would be better if I just died too, and then Tommy and his whole family show up out of nowhere and tell me to come with them. Tommy was so happy to finally meet someone else who’d survived, I figured I might as well try being happy along with him, and I was, for so long. But now that he’s gone I can’t do it anymore. Some days it feels like I might be close to happy, but when Dream took Tommy away from me it killed that little happy version of me that Tommy made when he found me, and I can’t get it back. I have to make a whole new one without him. I’m trying for you guys. You make me happy, sometimes. But then you go and it doesn’t last.”

“So we won’t go,” Ranboo said. “Well, Fundy has to go home sometimes, but I won’t. I’ll just follow you around everywhere until you’re so happy you’re sick of it.”

“I appreciate it, Rambo,” Tubbo said. “You’re a good friend. I’m really glad you’re here for me, both of you.”

“And maybe,” Fundy added, “we can get Tommy back.”

“Tubbo, you’re the only one of us who’s talked to him,” Ranboo said. “How was he? Could we get him back? If it’ll bring your happy back?”

He decided to answer honestly. “I have no idea. I don’t know how we could get him back.” 

He didn’t want to think about how awful it was, the way Tommy was now. He didn’t pretend to understand it. He knew that Tommy wouldn’t have betrayed him willingly, so he was probably in a really bad place, and it wouldn’t be right to blame him for what had happened to him. Even if it really hurt Tubbo’s feelings.

“But I do know,” he said, “that I’m never giving up on him.”


	46. Ranboo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all together now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me yesterday: oh god i'm not gonna get this chapter out i have nothing in my brain  
> me, somehow, six hours later: here's double the word count i wanted for this scene that develops the characters of the L'Manberg cabinet in a way i've been meaning to do for two weeks

Tubbo had been trying to explain to Fundy for fifteen minutes that the world wasn’t just sorted into good guys and bad guys. It wasn’t going well.

“Well then, how am I supposed to know who’s on my side and who’s not if everyone’s suspicious?” Fundy said, throwing up his arms. “This is ridiculous.”

“We’re on your side,” Tubbo said. “Me and Rambo. We promise. Right, Rambo?”

“Of course,” Ranboo said, not really listening. He was thinking about Dream.

They were on their way to see Dream. He’d given Tubbo an address, and it wasn’t like they could just look it up on Google, so they had to try to remember which way the street was. None of them had lived in this city prior to the apocalypse, so, outside of the much smaller area that they called their town, they didn’t know their way around too well. As a result, they were wandering around hoping they’d stumble on it by accident.

There was something about Dream that had been bothering Ranboo, and it wasn’t just his alleged insanity and bloodthirst. It was something about the feeling he’d experienced when he saw Dream in his mask a few months ago. The memory was all sorts of wrong. The fact that it had stuck with him without him writing it down was suspicious in and of itself. He only kept things like that when they were very, very important, yet that image of Dream was up there with his mother giving him his first memory book, Wilbur dying, Tubbo being his friend. What was so special about it? Why had it affected him so deeply that he frequently woke in the middle of the night with that image of the smiley face imprinted on his eyelids?

He thought he’d finally gotten rid of the nightmares in the months after Wilbur’s death, but he was dead wrong. Wilbur hadn’t been the source at all. This was Ranboo’s curse, the dreams and the memories, and he’d never be rid of it. His only hope was an occasional temporary respite.

“Look,” Tubbo was saying, “Wilbur did bad things.”

“Yeah,” Fundy said. “I know.”

“And he also did good things.”

“Yeah, I know that too. What’s your point?”

“So was he a bad guy or a good guy?”

Fundy opened his mouth to answer, but hesitated, stumped. “I guess I don’t know.”

“That’s it. You don’t know. Because there isn’t an answer. He wasn’t bad or good, he was just a guy who was our friend and helped us against Dream and tried to kill everyone. Now, Dream, he’s a bad guy for sure. But just because Quackity is against Dream, doesn’t mean he hasn’t done bad things, right? Wilbur was against Dream too and he's done bad things. Same goes for Quackity.”

“I think I get it,” Fundy said. “So, I can’t trust anybody but you guys and they can all do bad things. Right?”

“No, that’s not-'' Tubbo looked to Ranboo. “Help me out here.”

“Honestly, he’s probably right,” Ranboo said. He wasn’t in the mood for positivity. He was busy ruminating.

“You’re as bad as he is. We can trust some people! Like Niki, she’s always been nice. And Puffy. And even though Eret doesn’t get some stuff about Wilbur, they mean well, so I think we can trust them. And you guys don’t know Sam too well, but I do, and personally I trust him to do the right thing. And even though Tommy’s different now and he’s on Dream’s side,” Tubbo said, running out of air and taking a breath, “when it comes down to it, really comes down to it, I still trust him. He’s hurt, I know, but he wouldn’t hurt me. Not seriously. Like, if Dream told him to kill me, I know he wouldn’t do it.” 

“That’s really the benchmark for trust that you’re setting? People not killing you?” It was a rude thing to say, Ranboo knew, and he’d invited the glare that Tubbo gave him, but he still flinched. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Tubbo said, knowing Ranboo’s dislike for aggressive eye contact. “But seriously, come on, man.”

“Shh.” Fundy grabbed onto Tubbo’s wrist and pointed. Almost a block away, Quackity was walking in their direction, frowning. He’d clearly seen them, since his pace was much too fast to be leisurely. “He’s coming.”

“What is  _ he  _ doing out here?” Tubbo wondered. As Quackity approached, Ranboo noticed that he wore a furious expression and was actually carrying weapons for once, which was a surprise. Quackity, like Schlatt (and to some extent, Wilbur) before him, was often unarmed, preferring to use his words when caught in a sticky situation. It was a skill that Ranboo, who could no more keep his cool under pressure then escape through the power of flight, severely lacked.

“What are  _ you guys  _ doing out here?” Quackity demanded while still a ways away, just within earshot. “We are so far away from town right now.”

“We might ask you the very same question, big man,” Tubbo said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m going to the place me and Sapnap used to meet,” Quackity said without a moment’s hesitation. “There was a little house out here we chose for its cool interior. We hung out before shit went bad. We were friends. I go there sometimes when I miss him.”

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and Ranboo didn’t detect a lie in Quackity’s voice, but there was still something missing there. Something he was leaving out. “Well, we’re-” Tubbo looked to Ranboo, and Ranboo realized he was expecting him to say something. “Y’know,” Tubbo finished lamely after Ranboo failed to fill in a single word. “Just hanging around.”

“I don’t believe you,” Quackity said, crossing his arms. “There’s no reason for you guys to be out this far. You’re up to something. Were you following me?”

There was a pause, and Ranboo tried desperately to come up with a decent excuse. Beside him, Tubbo was doing the same. In the empty space they left, Fundy spoke up.

“Quackity,” he said firmly, “you’re not a good person.”

“Oh, jeez,” Tubbo groaned, but Quackity frowned, seeming genuinely hurt.    


“What did I do to make you say that, Fundy?” he asked, his tone switching immediately to a voice that was familiar to Ranboo. It nearly matched the way Quackity used to sound back in the beginning, before Schlatt, when they were all just kids trying their best to do what Wilbur said and figure everything out. Back then, Quackity had been the oldest, with the exception of Eret, who was inarguably categorized as an adult and separate from them. He had tried his best to watch out for them all, and there was nothing behind it, either, no kind of expectation of repayment. He just wanted them all to be safe. Ranboo didn’t think that had changed, but Quackity’s way of going about it certainly had.

“That’s what Tubbo told me,” Fundy replied.

Tubbo facepalmed. “Fundy, no…”

“Oh, really?” The warm, comforting Quackity vanished as soon as he’d arrived, replaced by the cold and bitter man Ranboo was coming to dislike. “Did he give you a reason?”

“He said you’d done bad things,” Fundy attempted to explain, “and you’ve done good things too. So we can’t trust you.”

“Ranboo,” Tubbo whispered, desperation straining his voice. Ranboo shrugged helplessly. He had no idea how to fix this.

Things really could not have gone any worse.

“Listen, Fundy,” Quackity said, bending down to his level- he didn’t have to bend far, Ranboo towered over him almost as easily as he did the other two- and resting a hand on Fundy’s shoulder. “You don’t have to listen to everything Tubbo says. I’ve only ever tried to do what’s best for you guys. I still want to protect you. Sure, sometimes I make mistakes, but I’m trying. I promise you, I’m not a bad person.”

“No, he said you weren’t a bad person either,” Fundy chirped. “You’re in the middle, with Wilbur.”

“Fundy, I don’t want to put you in the middle of this, alright? I’ve got to talk to Tubbo about this now, but I don’t want you to feel bad about it. You did a good thing by telling me.”

It sent a chill down Ranboo’s spine. He heard some of Schlatt in Quackity’s voice, and a whole lot of Wilbur. In Quackity’s defense, he didn’t know the context, and maybe he thought Tubbo was taking advantage of Fundy somehow, but his words to Fundy were unsettling even after taking all that into account. They were nearly manipulative. 

Ranboo scribbled all of that down in whatever book he was holding. He’d taken to being much less stringent about his books, toning down the vigilance over what kind of writing went where. It made it more difficult to figure out the chronological order of events, but he ended up getting a lot more down on the page when he didn’t have to waste time going hunting for the correct volume to write down his often time-sensitive thoughts. 

“Tubbo,” Quackity said. “Care to explain?” His voice was cold, the same cold he normally reserved for L’Manberg’s enemies.

“It’s not what it sounds like,” Ranboo promised. “I know that sounds like bullshit, but it’s really, genuinely not. Tubbo was trying to explain, like, relative morality to Fundy, because Wilbur left him confused, and he didn’t quite get it. Neither of us told him to do something like that. We’re not turning him against you or anything, we’re-”   


“We’re going to see Dream,” Tubbo interrupted him.

Quackity stared at Tubbo, thankfully switching his attention away from Ranboo. “What a coincidence, huh.” He clutched at a crumpled sheet of paper that Ranboo hadn’t noticed him carrying until now. Ranboo could guess who had sent it. “That’s where I’m headed, too,”

“You said you were going to the place where you and Sapnap hooked up or whatever.”

“I am going there. That’s where Dream is. That’s why I’m going.” Quackity was probably assuming that Tubbo didn’t mean “hooked up” in a sexual way, but Ranboo knew he absolutely did. “I assume he sent you a similar letter to the one he sent me. What did it say?”

“It said,” Tubbo paused and looked at Ranboo, who shrugged again. “It said we couldn’t trust you. It said you wanted power and you wanted L’Manberg for yourself. You only want it around so you can take the presidency from me, because it gives you power, because people will listen to you and do what you say.”

“That’s bullshit,” Quackity said. “Come on, Tubbo, you know that’s just Dream trying to stir up trouble between us so he can get the upper hand. We can’t let him get away with that.”

“So you’re our friend, right? You don’t want to be in charge, you want to keep us safe?”

“Of course.” His face softened just slightly. “That’s all I ever wanted. I wanted a safe place where we could just live, where you guys would be happy too, where me and Karl and Sapnap-” He stopped on Sapnap’s name, and the softness turned hollow. “Tubbo, I don’t want L’Manberg. I want Sapnap back. If I’ve taken extreme measures to get that, in your eyes, if I’ve lost sight of the right way of doing things, then I’m sorry. Karl’s been telling me similar things recently. I won’t let myself go the same way as Wilbur, I promise.”

“You sure, big man?” Tubbo asked.

Quackity didn’t look sure in the slightest, but he did look determined. “I’m sure. I let myself forget the way things used to be, I let myself forget what it was like for you guys. That’s not okay. When we go to see Dream, I don’t want us to be divided up like this. I want us to be united as a cabinet,” he smiled faintly, “with President Tubbo at its head.”

“Yayyy!” Fundy cheered, wrapping his arms around Quackity’s waist. “Q, I missed you.”

Quackity ruffled his hair. “Missed you too, kid.” He met Tubbo and Ranboo’s eyes, and this time the spite had melted. Ranboo wasn't afraid to look back. “Let’s go.”

There was still a lie somewhere in there, Ranboo thought, but he might have been imagining it. He couldn’t tell. He was convinced that Quackity had done some rapid reevaluation and come out better for it, but his books were never wrong.

Not that he would voice his concerns. If things went south, he’d protect Tubbo and Fundy as best he could, but for now there was no reason to cast further suspicion on Quackity. It wasn’t like he had anything concrete.

Quackity led them directly to the correct address, adding credibility to his claims that he’d been here many times before. It was a house among houses, nothing special, its only difference being the empty inground pool visible from the backyard and the strange stone statues resting on the porch in the shape of lions. Ranboo rested a hand on one of their heads, gripping onto it to hold himself steady. Below him, Fundy's hands went to the lion's fangs protruding from the lower jaw of its yawning mouth, his fingers grazing the dulled tips with interest.

Before opening the door, Quackity stepped back and let Tubbo take the lead, turning to look at the three of them. “Remember, guys,” he said. “We’re Wilbur’s kids. We’re his army. We’re what’s left.”

_ You’re my kids. You’re my army. You’re what’s left. _ Ranboo could hear Wilbur’s voice in his head, but he almost didn’t mind it. Despite himself, he let his face break into a grin. He spoke in unison with Tubbo and Fundy, quoting the words Wilbur would often repeat to them before a battle, “And we won’t let that ugly green motherfucker take what’s ours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so now i'm writing a fundy pov for tomorrow? wtf? i didn't know it would happen i just started writing it and accidentally came up with some banger ideas so i'm sticking with it. get ready for the confrontation from fundy's eyes. it should be fun. and of course since it's me writing it, you can bet your ass that people are going to get hurt.
> 
> i am super happy with this chapter and hopefully the next two will turn out as good as i'm hoping, it'll be a fun time had by all. i love hearing y'all's predictions when you make them no matter how off track you think you are, so i want to hear how you picture the scene tomorrow and saturday unfolding. is it really gonna be the l'manburg cabinet vs. dream and that's it? hell nah, these dramatic bitches are 100% going to be dragging other people into it. who's gonna be there? what's gonna happen? i don't even have it plotted out exactly yet so if you happen to have a god tier idea, who knows, it might even influence the story. now's ur chance. go comment.


	47. Fundy

Fundy was happy to stay safe in the shadow of his friends, content to let the adults tell him what to do and where to go, maybe even what to think. But he noticed things, he watched people, and he knew what they were thinking. Maybe even better than they did. 

He kept quiet, for the most part. He kept to himself. It was better that way. Wilbur had taught him that, not by anything he said, but by destroying everything Fundy had helped him build. So, no one deserved his help, his secrets, ever again. That was the lesson Fundy learned, and no one had told him otherwise.

He used his power for good. When he noticed Ranboo becoming anxious, he would offer him a hug or a hand to hold. When Tubbo got stressed out, Fundy curled up next to him to take a nap. When Quackity and Tubbo argued, Fundy did his best to make sure they’d talk it out rather than go into a meeting with Dream angry and distrustful. It was all working, they were together again, it was like Wilbur and Tommy had never gone. 

Dream broke all that, like Fundy knew he would.

“I see you’ve brought some friends,” he said, and Fundy could hear in his voice that he hadn’t expected to see Quackity and Tubbo side by side. He almost beamed in pride, thrilled he’d been able to upset Dream’s plans just slightly, but that might give him away. Fundy worked in the shadows, he worked as a doe-eyed child trembling at Eret’s side, a silent protector. He worked in the dark and only Wilbur knew it, and Wilbur was dead. 

(Which had not been the way Fundy wanted it, but just because he knew things were happening didn’t mean he could always stop them. He was, after all, just a child.)

“How could I not?” Tubbo asked. “I know you by now, Dream.” His hands were trembling at his sides, and Fundy almost moved to comfort him, but Ranboo got there first, resting an arm on Tubbo’s shoulder and staring Dream down. Fundy knew Ranboo hated eye contact, but Dream was wearing the mask, which negated the effects of harsh eyes and a knowing expression. The upsides to wearing it as an intimidation tactic were downsides when it came to Ranboo. 

“You mean to say, after what I said in my letter, you still asked Quackity to come with you? You still want him here to talk over you?”

“I did ask him to come with us,” Tubbo lied. Fundy didn’t think Dream knew it was a lie. He was impressed. Tubbo was usually an abhorrent liar. “He’s not here to talk over me. He’s here to help me, just like my other friends.”

“Is that what he told you?” Dream asked. “You should have asked him more questions, then.” He turned and motioned towards an unseen person behind the wall that led to another room of the house, and Fundy knew who it was before Dream spoke his name. “Come on, Sapnap.”

“I’m here.” Sapnap was reserved, his shoulders slumped forward. His long, messy black hair was wrapped up in a headband tied behind his head, and his eyes were dull and miserable. Still, he caught Fundy looking and he glared defiantly, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off either Dream or Quackity for long.

“I sent Quackity his own letter,” Dream said with the tones of one dispelling a great revelation to the shocked people below him. “I told him if he wanted to see Sapnap, he’d come here today.”

“Yeah,” Tubbo said, “we knew that already. He showed it to me. We showed each other.”

“You thought you could split us up,” Quackity said, “but you can’t. Nice try, though.”

Behind his mask, Fundy knew Dream’s gears were turning, trying to come up with a solution. Outwardly, he appeared to be merely crossing his arms. He’d barely moved a muscle since they entered the house. Sapnap was the one who spoke up. “Quackity, you should- you should consider giving up L’Manburg,” he said, and Fundy didn’t need to be an observational genius to hear the pain in his voice.

“That’s up to Tubbo, not me,” Quackity said. “Sorry.” He did sound sorry. He sounded sorrier than Fundy had ever heard him. 

“What happens if we do?” Tubbo asked. “What’s your plan afterwards?”

“I don’t fucking care,” Sapnap said. “All it means is I get to see Karl and Quackity again. That’s what’s important to me. We’ll be together.”

Sapnap was being lied to, but that was obvious. Not worth mentioning, even. Fundy couldn’t let Sapnap fall into harm’s way. He was hurt just like Tubbo had told them Tommy was hurt. It was the same hurt, and it was all Dream’s fault. Dream, the only  _ real  _ bad guy.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to get a little more specific than that, big man,” Tubbo said. “I’m guessing once L’Manburg’s gone, Dream’s planning on putting himself at the top of the ladder again. And I’m afraid I just can’t trust you there, Dream.” He turned to Dream, his confidence growing with every word. “I did trust you before, everyone did. But you forget, we saw you. We’ve seen you. You’re not the same, you like to hurt people, you thrive off of conflict. You don’t even know what you’re doing at this point, you just want to hurt and be hurt, you just want pain. If we surrendered L’Manburg, right now, you’d take more and more and more until nothing was left.”

“Quackity put those words in your mouth,” Dream said dismissively. “He said practically the same thing last time we all saw each other.”

“He did,” Tubbo acknowledged. “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t right.”

“Tubbo, that was great,” Fundy whispered encouragingly. The corners of Tubbo’s mouth twitched upwards into a slight grin. 

“So it’s all-out war, then, that’s what you want,” Dream said. “You want a fight, you’ll get one. I can’t let L’Manburg stand anymore, no matter what fancy virtues you espouse to defend it. It’s the invention of a madman, it prevented so much progress in town, and I’ll do whatever it takes to defeat it, no matter who hates me by the end.”

“Dream,” Sapnap mumbled behind him. “You promised.”

Dream sighed. “I did promise. Go ahead, then, two minutes.”

Quackity had been slouching against the wall, but at Dream’s allowance he moved to Sapnap, who met him in the middle. Both of them stared at each other, neither one eager to make the first move, and then three things happened in very rapid succession.

First, Quackity’s hand moved to a place very close to where his gun lay in its holster. 

Second, Dream pulled out his own gun and aimed it at Quackity’s head.

Third, Fundy did what he had to do.

Five bullets went off in total. Quackity stumbled back, grasping the right side of his head. The second bullet from Dream’s gun hit nothing but air where Quackity’s head had been a moment before. Sapnap caught him, and the two of them ended up on the floor. Dream took the impact of the three rounds Fundy had fired at him, not seeming terribly bothered. His head turned towards Fundy, mildly amused. Through the bullet holes in his sweatshirt, Fundy could see the bulletproof vest he wore beneath it. Dream had never worn a bulletproof vest before, but once Fundy saw it, he figured out why he’d chosen today to finally exercise some caution.

“Quackity!” Sapnap and Tubbo cried in unison. Tubbo ran over to where Quackity lay. Fundy couldn’t see how much blood there was. He was too focused on Dream backing him into a corner. 

“I’ll give you credit for that one,” Dream said, pinning Fundy against the wall. “I didn’t see it coming at all.” A high-pitched shriek escaped Fundy’s lips, and he shrunk down, trying to squirm his way out of Dream’s grasp. It was a fruitless gesture and he knew it. Ranboo pulled uselessly at Dream’s arm, but Dream swatted him away as easily as he’d swat at a fly.

“Please let me go,” Fundy said pitifully, his eyes tearing up. “Please don’t hurt me.”   


“You just tried to kill me.”

“You shot Quackity!” Tubbo yelled at him. “Let go of him!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it grazed my ear,” Fundy heard Quackity saying as he pulled his hand, slick with blood, away from his head. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about Fundy.”

“I shot at Quackity because I saw him reaching for his gun,” Dream said. “I wasn’t going to let him hurt Sapnap.”

“I would never hurt him,” Quackity said, fury blazing in his eyes. “You’re fucking insane.”

“Are you denying you reached for your gun?”

“He didn’t,” Fundy said, breathing hard. His chest felt like it might cave in from how fast his heart was pounding. “His gun’s not even loaded. He was grabbing something from his pocket. A ring.”   
  
Dream released him, and Fundy breathed a sigh of relief. He collapsed to the ground, leaning his head back against the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw everyone in the room looking in his direction, especially Quackity, who was staring at him as if he’d never seen Fundy before.

Oops.

“How did you know that?” Quackity asked. “I didn’t tell you my gun wasn’t loaded. And  _ nobody  _ knows about the rings.”

“Rings?” Sapnap asked. “What do you mean-”

With his non-bloody hand, Quackity dug three plain golden rings from his pocket. “These,” he said. “One for each of us. I was going to give you yours, I didn’t know what else to do to get you back. I hadn’t even told Karl yet.”

Sapnap shook his head, his eyes filling with tears. “I can’t- I can’t just-” He shook his head wildly. “He’s right there, I can’t-”

“Sapnap,” Dream’s voice said coldly. “Let go of him. Get up.”

Closing his eyes, Sapnap did as he said. The expression on his face was closed off, but underneath it was an endless expanse of misery. He didn’t want this, Fundy knew. He wanted to go back. He wanted the ring.

Dream’s hand pulled Fundy off the floor again. He gripped the collar of Fundy’s shirt, choking him a bit and just barely lifting his feet off of the ground. Fundy tried to push him away, but again found that he couldn’t. His legs kicked wildly beneath him, but every time he made contact with Dream’s shins, Dream didn’t budge. “You know things, don’t you,” Dream accused him. “You don’t say things because you’re watching.”

“Please,” Fundy mouthed, unable to get the sound out. Both Ranboo and Tubbo came to his aid this time, but Dream fended them off just as easily, not even turning his head in their direction. 

“Get off him!” Tubbo shrieked. “You’re hurting him! He’s fifteen, you fucking monster!”

“Dream.” Sapnap’s voice was shaking, but firm. Fundy aimed one last kick at Dream’s legs before going limp. “That is a child. Do not kill him.”   


“I’m not going to kill him,” Dream scoffed. Fundy chose that second to begin making exaggerated choking noises. He raked his fingernails down Dream’s arm, gouging as deep as he could. Dream relented, setting him down, but moved his grip to Fundy’s arm instead. “I just need a bit of insurance that no one else gets any bright ideas to try and shoot me again.”

“You’re not getting away with this,” Quackity spat as Fundy pulled on his arm hopelessly. “Did you think I wouldn’t come without backup again? I’m not that stupid.”

“No, I didn’t think that for a second,” Dream said. “That’s why I got my guys to take care of it.”

“Five on two? You really think that’ll work out in your favor?”

“Five on three, actually,” Dream corrected, “and I think it’ll go just fine.”

Fundy, unfortunately, believed him completely. 

From outside they heard the sounds of a scuffle and a distinct scream, a voice Fundy knew well. He closed his eyes. He’d done all he could.

It was up to his friends now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might fuck around and hold the next chapter hostage for a day or two. i've written a one-shot that i consider to be one of the most amazing things i've ever written, and with every passing day it's filled with contradictions as the smp progresses. i gotta publish this shit now or never. so that will be posted tomorrow, and i would really appreciate it if you all read it :) i'm really proud of it


	48. George

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i added yet another chapter to this battle. this still isn't the last one. fairly certain it won't go to five, but to be honest, i don't even know. maybe it will. 
> 
> velvetfrost enthusiasts, prepare for a death blow. you were warned.

George looked down on the group of five. Bad and Ant stood together, backing each other up without question. Niki in her hooded cape stood with her arms folded, Eret on one side and Jack Manifold on the other. Both of her sidekicks seemed to believe they were the ones commanding attention, but Niki, ignoring it all, was in the lead by far. All five were heavily armed and ready for combat.

“Just give the word,” George said to Tommy, wiping his knife clean with his shirt. It was already clean, but sometimes he imagined stains on it. He knew they were imaginary. He wasn’t insane. It just comforted him to clean it, that was all.

Dream had been wise to split up Sapnap and George for this one, because without Sapnap it was much harder to remember why he was supposed to care. The nagging voice in the back of his mind was fainter and fainter these days, replaced by a different voice that sounded a lot like Dream. It didn’t speak like it did in the early days, and George was thankful for that. As long as that held true, he wasn’t crazy yet, right? Instead, it lurked in the back of his mind, sometimes persistent enough to hurt. Annoying, but manageable.

“So what’s the plan?” Eret asked. “Anything in particular Quackity wants us to do, Bad?”

They stood outside the house, and George, Tommy and Punz watched them from the second floor of the house next door. Tommy had wanted a good vantage point, and didn’t care that George was a little more inconvenienced by having to swing over the balcony than he was. Either Tommy shared Dream’s interest in theatrics, or he’d neglected to take other people’s skill level into account. George believed it to be the latter. If Tommy cared about his image, he’d villain monologue a little more instead of dodging every spotlight Dream forced him under.

“We go in if things go wrong,” Bad said. “Which they will, I’m sure. Just like last time.” He leaned against the wall while Ant watched through the window. “Except this time, we shoot to kill. Don’t take a shot if there’s any chance of hitting someone else, understand?” He glared at Jack when he said that.

“Yeah, yeah, old man, I got it,” Jack said, hands raised mockingly. 

“They’re still just talking,” Ant reported. “Everything seems calm for now.”

“What’s the plan for everyone else?” Niki asked. “Sapnap, George, Tommy. They all seem loyal to him, right? What do we do if they’re still after us once he’s dead?”

“They really think they can kill Dream?” George asked. Now that he was certain Dream would never die, he envied their optimism. He thought he could kill Dream once, and god, he missed that stupid delusion.

“Right?” Tommy agreed. “None of us could do it, I don’t know why they think they’ll fare any better.”

“When did you try to kill him?” 

Tommy looked at him like he was stupid. “Non-stop for two and a half years,” he said. Gunshots rang out from inside the house, five of them in a row. “Okay, let’s go.”

George tried to ignore the part of him that was afraid of one of the shots hitting Sapnap. Sapnap would be fine, he told himself. Dream would never let him get shot. He followed Tommy and Punz off of the balcony, stuck the landing by some miracle, and turned to face Bad and the group, pretending his feet didn’t hurt like a bitch.

“Punz?” Bad’s face looked almost heartbroken, and George remembered he’d never bothered to inform Quackity that Punz hadn’t actually died. It was an oversight caused by the stress of existing in the same world as Dream, but he still felt bad about it. It was probably a good sign that he felt bad. He held on to that. “I didn’t- I can’t-” Bad looked at George, who looked away. 

George knew Punz wasn’t exactly going to be able to explain himself, and he was not about to jump in, so he was relieved when Jack Manifold took charge of the situation. “TommyInnit,” he declared, “I am going to fucking kill you, right now.”

“Jack, no,” Bad said, but Jack wasn’t going to be stopped by mere words.

Tommy just smirked. “You can try,” he said, and that was when it all went to shit.

Thankfully, no one but Jack had their weapons out yet, but things would almost certainly escalate. George dreaded the moment that they did. He fought Eret and occasionally Ant, while Niki helped Jack against Tommy. Ant was conspicuously pulling his punches, and Eret had to be noticing.

“Punz,” Bad begged, “what happened to you? Are you okay? Quackity told me you were- he said you were dead. I can help you, I swear-”

There was a look of anger on Punz’s face, and he made a beeline for George, shoving him away and taking on Eret. George landed against Ant’s shoulder, and the jolting motion shook something up in his head. The scene went fuzzy around him, and as one of Ant’s punches finally connected with the side of his face, he tasted blood.

He heard a dry chuckle that sounded just like Dream’s in the back of his head as he pulled out a knife.

Why had he done that? What the hell-

“So it’s like that now,” Eret said from somewhere behind him, and followed suit. Something was so, so wrong with their voice. Niki laughed, practically cackling, and grabbed her own blade, a machete not unlike Dream’s he’d never seen before. It was much deadlier than George’s little switchblade. She managed to leave a bloody scrape at Tommy’s ankle, not that it slowed him down any. 

When Tommy drew his knives, that was the end.

George lost all distinction, his hands moving of their own accord. Blood flew in the air, maybe his own, he didn’t know. He heard a cat-like hiss from Ant, he felt a wild kick to his head, he found struggling arms and shoulders and pinned them down as best as he could, letting the knife in his hand dig into the person’s shoulder blade. He didn’t care. This was how he kept himself safe, this was how he’d live through it. Someone else stumbled against him before being pulled away just as quickly, and he stomped on the flailing leg of the person he’d trapped against the wall, reveling in how the tread on his boots managed to leave marks against skin. It wasn’t much, but it was easy.

“George, what are you  _ doing _ ?” Bad hissed.

George blinked. Bad struggled beneath him, bleeding freely from where George had stabbed him, his hair matted with red. Quackity had confided in Bad, Bad thought George was on his side, and wasn’t that true? Wasn’t he supposed to be? 

He wasn’t sure what to do. God, his brain was a mess. Did he really want to hurt Bad right now? He couldn’t tell.

He was about to release Bad, mainly out of confusion, when Ant slammed into him and knocked him off his feet. Since his knife was still stuck in Bad’s shoulder, George was left defenseless. Ant pressed something to his throat, pushing his knee into George’s stomach. “What did you do?” he demanded, and George couldn’t answer him. 

He struggled instead, managing to free one of his arms and shoving against Ant, but he was quickly pinned back down. “Get the hell off of me, you stupid catboy,” he spat, and Ant flinched.

When they were all in college, Ant was as rowdy as the rest of them, constantly egged on by his boyfriend. Velvet had given him cat ears as a joke for his birthday, and Ant ended up wearing them to a party, and then again, and again, and again, usually for casual occasions, just among friends. Once he even wore them to class, a feat he only pulled off by wearing a smirk along with them the entire time, staring right back at anyone who gave him a weird look. George remembered that class as clear as day, though he didn’t remember a single word of the lecture. It had been hilarious.

According to Bad, Ant had watched his boyfriend become a zombie in the beginning, back when no one knew what the hell was going on. He’d stayed with him hoping the bite would heal. Of course, it only got worse, and in the end Ant had to be the one to kill him. After that, he was much more subdued, going along with whatever Bad was doing, and the cat ears were long forgotten, a reminder of a better time that he didn’t want to see.

It was unjustifiably cruel for George to bring that up again, and Ant’s eyes were filled with rage. 

“I hope you choke on Dream’s dick,” he growled in return, pushing the blade down against George’s throat. 

George coughed, spitting up blood that had already been inside his mouth. Ant freaked out and backed off when he saw it. Though his arms and legs were fine, George just lay there at Ant’s feet, letting himself go limp, because he’d seen something out of the corner of his eye. A flash of piss yellow, which meant green.

“Antfrost,” Dream’s voice called across the yard. He was gripping someone tightly by the wrist, and Sapnap stood uncertainly at his side. His tattered sweatshirt had new bullet holes in it, and his eyes were ablaze. At the sound of his voice, the rest of the fighting stopped. “You’ll pay for that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you missed yesterday's shameless self promotion, please go read soot tags! it's a one shot i wrote with a playlist along to the story, and it's way better than this bullshit. if you do it i will love you. platonically of course.


	49. George

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two consecutive george chapters in a row. feels like the old days
> 
> ant doesn't fucking die in this chapter guys /srs

Sapnap. Sapnap was there.

George exhaled sharply, feeling the damage to his throat with his hand. It was bleeding, but it wasn’t severe. He’d recover. He was more concerned that Sapnap looked like he’d been crying. 

Dream was holding onto Fundy, probably keeping a hostage for security. Fundy was a good choice. Everyone was an orphan except Phil’s kids, but Fundy was especially an orphan after Wilbur’s demise, and god damn if the kid didn’t look as pitiful as possible. Almost as if he was in on it. Behind him, Tubbo and Ranboo timidly poked their heads out of the door, but Quackity was nowhere to be seen. 

“I-” Ant started, but Bad stepped between him and Dream, body-blocking him. The handle of George’s knife still protruded from his right shoulder and his head was bleeding, but he stood strong.

“You’re not touching Ant,” Bad said firmly. “Dream, what did you do to Punz?”

“Ask him yourself,” Dream said with a gesture toward Punz, which was just incredibly insensitive. George even saw Tommy wince at that one. Punz, put on the spot, stared hard at the ground, and while George felt for him, he was not about to call any attention to himself. “Hmm, guess he doesn’t want to tell you.”

Beside him, Sapnap was bristling. George met his eyes and shook his head, just slightly. He managed to pull himself up to a sitting position. Dream aimed his gun at Bad, tilting his head.

“Move out of the way,” he said. “I can’t allow anyone to hurt George like that. I have to do this. There’s no reason for you to die too.”

“Dream,” George coughed, “don’t hurt Ant. I deserved it.” Maybe it was just because Sapnap was standing there, but suddenly he remembered to care about Ant’s life. Maybe that was it. Maybe he needed to keep Sapnap around if he wanted to make it through this. 

“You don’t deserve being hurt,” Dream insisted. “George, can you walk? Get over here.”

George got to his feet, but the moment he did, he felt an arm wrap around his neck, not tightly enough to hurt, but tightly enough to restrict his movement. He heard the click of a gun with the safety off behind his head. He couldn’t turn to see his captor, but it wasn’t Ant, who stood behind Bad in the corner of George’s vision, a few feet away. 

“Dream, let Fundy go.” Eret’s voice came from right above George’s head. “Now.”

“I’ll kill you too, Eret,” Dream said like it didn’t matter. 

“Sure you will, and I’ll take him out with me.”

George closed his eyes. Eret was against war, against violence. They had made the original deal with Dream under the impression that Dream would put an end to the violence and keep the kids safe. They refused to let Fundy carry a gun, proclaiming that children shouldn’t be wielding weapons, and overall they were a strict pacifist. 

Dream had ruined them too. He’d ruined everybody. 

He’d ruined George.

“You’d kill and die for this kid?” Dream yanked Fundy’s hand in the air, and Fundy let out a small sob. “Maybe I should hold on to him then. Because let me tell you, Eret, if you so much as lay a hand on George, if you make him bleed, I will kill him-” He lifted Fundy’s arm higher, to the point where Fundy was standing on the tips of his toes, feet barely brushing the ground- “and them-” he gestured to Tubbo and Ranboo trembling on the front porch- “and I will make you watch.”

“So we’re at a stalemate then,” Eret said, “because if you fucking touch any of them I’ll kill George, gladly. I won’t have any reason not to. So I’d advise you, Dream, to let the kids go before I get impatient-” He took George’s hand in his- “and just start cutting off fingers.”

They were serious. George quivered in fear and exhilaration. As much as he would rather be safe by Dream’s side with all his fingers, this was  _ exciting. _ He bit down on his lip, hard, focusing on the pain to try and keep himself in the right state of mind.

Dream stuck his gun back in its holster and raised his free hand to his mask, taking it off. He wasn't angry or upset. He was grinning. George resisted the urge to grin back.

“Run over,” Dream said to Ranboo and Tubbo, and, exchanging a nervous glance, they did, throwing themselves behind the lines. “Eret,” Dream said, walking over to them with Fundy in tow, “come talk to me sometime.” He released Fundy, who scampered behind Eret, and held out his arm expectantly. Eret shoved George roughly into Dream. Dream pressed a kiss to George’s temple, and George let himself be pulled to safety. He felt like a toy, a rag doll, something to be bargained with. He was so fucking helpless. “Are you okay?” Dream whispered in his ear.

“I’m fine,” George whispered back. He took in the scent of blood on Dream’s clothes, and beneath that the scent of Dream himself. It filled him with relief.

Dream put his mask back on, refusing to let go of George with his other hand. “Do you need to go home? We’ll get out of here, if need be.”

“I’m barely hurt, Dream, do what you want.” George tried not to look at Sapnap, scared of what he was thinking. Sapnap had watched Dream threaten the lives of three children, and George knew he wouldn’t be okay with that. He might even be looking for a way out.

“George, look at yourself.”

“Oh.” George looked down to see his shirt drenched in blood. He hadn’t realized. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t really hurt.”

“Can you walk on your own?” He nodded. “Then go hide somewhere. Get inside the house, maybe. Wait for me to come get you. They’re all about to try to kill me, but don’t worry, I’ll live. Sapnap, your job is to make sure no one gets close to George.” 

Sapnap nodded, guiding George to the house. He closed the door with him outside and George in, and George heard the fighting start up again. He shut his eyes and slid down against the wall, trying to steady his breathing. He still felt a tightness in his chest from when Eret’s arm was wrapped around him and Ant’s knee was pushed into his stomach. 

“Well,” Quackity said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

George opened his eyes. He didn’t know how he hadn’t seen Quackity, who was standing over him with one hand pressed to the side of his face, the other leaning against the door over George’s head. Blood ran down his cheek, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. “You got shot?” George asked him.

“Barely. No big deal, might have a funky scar.” Quackity sat down beside him, a bemused expression on his face. “Tubbo and Sapnap insisted I stay inside. Look, George, I have to ask you something.”

_ He’s going to ask me if I’m doing okay,  _ George thought. He didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He knew his letters had been increasing in desperation, and Quackity had to have noticed.

“Is Sapnap ready to leave? I need him back.”

Of course. Of course Q didn’t give a shit about him. George didn’t know why he’d expected otherwise. “Dream just threatened to kill Fundy, Tubbo and Ranboo in front of him. and Sapnap’s not okay with hurting kids. I think he just needs a push.”

If he helped Sapnap get away, he’d have nothing to remind him which voice he was supposed to listen to. But if he didn’t help Quackity get him out, he’d be a bad person for keeping him here with Dream. 

He moved to stand up, but the pain was finally settling in, and his legs, though unharmed, were weak. His head was dizzy, his vision blurred, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to find what he wanted on his own. “Quackity, can I ask you to get me a pen and paper? Or something to write on, whatever you can find?”

“I’ll look around the house,” Quackity said, standing back up. He left and returned with a dull wooden pencil and the torn-off corner of some kind of financial document. “Best I could do. Is this enough space to write on?”   


George nodded and took it. The pencil shook like a bitch in his hand, but he managed to scribble down the address of the house he and Dream were living in. It was somewhat legible. He handed it to Quackity. “When this is over, take Karl and every fighter you have, and coax him back so he knows he’ll be safe. You guys have to convince him, put on a sappy performance or something, convince him you really miss him. Take as long as you need to make sure everyone’s healed up beforehand, bring everybody you got. Tell anyone you like about the plan, if it’s convenient to do so. I don’t care anymore, Quackity. I can’t let him stay with Dream any longer.”

Quackity nodded. “Thank you, George. I don’t know if I’ve said it yet, but your help’s been invaluable. We’ll take Dream down, don’t worry. You’ll be safe.”

Safe. He’d be safe.

He didn’t believe that for a second.


	50. Sapnap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he's had it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone said a while ago that every new sapnap chapter caused them more pain. this one will be no exception. enjoy

“Do you want me to kill Ant and Eret?” 

Sapnap pretended not to hear. He pretended he wasn’t there. He wished he was anywhere else than in that room while Dream cleaned the cut across George’s neck and asked him about murdering people that had once been their friends.

“Don’t kill Ant,” George said. “I really did deserve it, I wasn’t lying. He wouldn’t have hurt me, except I stabbed Bad and I reminded him of Velvet, on purpose, to piss him off. I was an asshole. It was only fair.”

George had stabbed Bad? Sapnap let out an involuntary noise somewhere between a groan and a sob. Fuck. He slapped a hand over his mouth. Both Dream and George ignored him.

“Alright, I won’t kill him,” Dream promised. “What about Eret?”

Sapnap shook his head vehemently, hoping George’s eyes would be drawn to the motion and notice him. George never faltered from looking at Dream, but he said, “There’s no need, Dream. Just don’t let them get their hands on me again, and it won’t be a problem.”

“That’s good. I’m not sure I want them dead just yet anyway. I think they might be useful.” Fuck, Sapnap did _not_ want to know what that meant. “I think I’ve got to talk to Tommy now, will you be okay, babe?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m already feeling better.” There was a silence that definitely indicated they were kissing, and Sapnap wondered, not for the first time, if they even knew he was there. It wasn’t like he was hidden. Maybe they were exhibitionists, because even as he looked away, he could tell by the flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye that they were _really_ getting into it. 

Dream brushed past him after a little while longer, not even acknowledging his presence. That was fine, Sapnap was embarrassed enough for the both of them. He watched George’s facial expression change when Dream was out of sight, falling from blushing to miserable and in pain.

“Are you okay?” Sapnap asked George, daring to get closer. A memory popped in his head of back when he’d been in the basement and George had gotten to visit him. They’d been able to get real, caring human contact. Sapnap missed it so badly. He was sure George did too. He knew George was secretly against Dream, but he played along with Dream’s affections for whatever reason. That kind of physical affection had to be difficult. He figured George could use some comforting. “Do you need me?”

George’s eyes were watering, and he wiped his face against the old, bloodstained quilt draped over the couch. “It hurts,” he mumbled, not meeting Sapnap’s eyes.

“Your neck hurts? Can I get you anything?”

“No, not my neck- I can’t even feel it, really,” George said. “Look, Sapnap, can you just…”

“You want me to leave,” Sapnap realized.

“No. Well, yes, but… I just wanted to say, I love you.”

Sapnap had heard George say those words before. He knew when George meant it and when he didn’t. Right now, he meant it. “I love you too, man.”

“And I want you to be safe,” George pressed on, “and this- this isn’t safe.”

Sapnap had been thinking that same thing more and more. Especially after he’d had to beg Dream to spare Punz’s life. That hadn’t felt safe. He’d felt for a while as if he could handle it, he could do what Dream said and keep everyone safe, but he was growing increasingly worried that those two missions were never meant to be accomplishable together. He’d have to choose one.

“I think you should go talk to Punz,” George said, “ask him if he’s hiding anything from you.” Sapnap had forgotten all about whatever George had been refusing to tell him a few days ago, thanks to Dream’s new mission. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Sapnap agreed, “I should talk to Punz. But I don’t want to leave you on your own when you’re so upset like this. I’m worried about you.”

“I’d rather just be alone right now.” His voice sounded a bit strangled, holding back a sob. “If that’s okay.”

“That’s fair. But if that changes, come and get me. I want to be here whenever you want me, George. You’re my best friend.” 

“Go see Punz,” George repeated. “It’s important.”

Sapnap went. He wasn’t sure why, specifically, but he was terrified for George right now. Things felt decidedly out of his control, and he wasn’t so confident in George to steer Dream back in a safer direction. Dream was out of control. Who knew what he would have done with Fundy if Eret hadn’t stepped in. Not that Sapnap was on Eret’s side by any means- that bastard had hurt George and he didn’t trust them in the slightest. He didn’t want Dream to get into contact with Eret again, not after what had happened last time. 

These thoughts, they were dangerous, but they’d been bubbling up in him for weeks, and he would go insane if he kept them down any longer. That was the headspace he was in when he met Punz, who was no longer locked away. It was a much faster transition than George or Sapnap had had to go through. Punz kept to his own room anyway, silent and unresponsive.

“Hey,” Sapnap said, pulling the notebook from off the shelf. “I really need to talk to you. Yesterday was awful. I wanted to check in, I guess.”

 _It’s fine,_ Punz wrote, dropping the pen when he was finished with particular emphasis. 

“No, it’s not fine. It’s really not. It’s fucked up, man. I can’t... “ Sapnap knew Dream probably couldn’t hear him, but he lowered his voice anyway. “I can’t do this shit anymore.”

_What do you mean?_

“I think, well,” Sapnap said and took the notebook. He didn’t want to say it out loud. _I think we have to get the fuck out of here,_ he wrote.

_Is this some test? I’m not going with you, dude._

“No, it’s not!” Sapnap’s eyes widened in shock. Was this what it had been like when George spoke to him after everything Dream had done? It was so fucked up. “Please don’t say you actually…”

_No, I still hate his bitch ass. Who do you think I am? I’ve just lost enough already. I really don’t want to risk death again. God knows what he’ll do to me next if I don’t make it out._

“But you’re okay!” Sapnap said. “You’re getting better, you can probably talk right now if you tried. It’s been long enough. I know it’s probably something you’re nervous about, but it’ll get better eventually, I’m sure of it.”

_It won’t, Sapnap._

“Why are you so sure of that fact?” Punz sighed, tossing the notebook to the side in frustration. Sapnap shoved the pen back in his hand. “No, you’re going to answer me. What happened? George said something happened but he wouldn’t tell me what. Don’t leave me in the dark.”

_I can’t. I really, really can’t. I don’t want you confronting Dream about it. You’ll get hurt._

“And if I said I wouldn’t?”

_Don’t believe you._

“Then I’ll just go ask him about it,” Sapnap said, which had the intended effect. Punz glared at him and put pen to paper, not writing the words so much as carving them, the ink bleeding messily everywhere. When he handed it back to Sapnap, it was difficult to read, and his thumb came away black from where he pressed it to the paper.

_He cut my fucking tongue._

Sapnap blinked and read it again to make sure he hadn’t read it wrong the first time. His stomach lurched at the idea. “Oh, god.” He looked back at Punz, who avoided eye contact. “Dude, I- I’m so sorry. I feel like it’s my fault, somehow. I should have just come with you in the first place.”

Punz made a shushing gesture, and Sapnap realized he’d been speaking too loudly. _It is not your goddamn fault. I underestimated Dream, and he’s a psychopath. You were doing your best._

“Still, it wouldn’t have happened if I’d just- oh, _god._ ” Sapnap felt like an asshole making such a big deal over it when it was Punz who had had to go through that. He squeezed his eyes shut, resting a hand on the bed frame to stabilize himself. “That’s horrific. I can’t do this anymore. I really can’t. I’m going to kill him. I can’t-”

_You can’t kill him, dude. He can’t die. You know that. We have to stay alive first._

“Okay, okay. Give me a couple days, maybe. I’ll try to figure something out.” 

_You said you’d get rid of the sheets that had bad stuff on them, right? You’re gonna need to destroy a lot of pages, I indented those words through like half this notebook._

Sapnap’s heart was pounding as he ripped pages from the notebook, sliding them inside his coat. “I”ll go drop these in a puddle somewhere and make sure they completely disintegrate.” He gathered up the bits of paper that had fallen, crumpling them into a ball in his pocket so the incriminating evidence wouldn't be left all over the floor of Punz’s room.

As he left, Punz made a hand sign in his direction, one that Sapnap had taught him. He didn’t know much more than the alphabet and a few very basic words yet, so he couldn't get too complex. _Thanks._

 _Of course,_ Sapnap signed back, spelling it out to make sure Punz understood. He closed the door and let the tears he’d been holding back fall. This was it.

This was the end. He’d die, or he’d be free. Those were the only two possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to all y'all who immediately commented figuring out the plot twist that i thought i'd been discreet about, however many chapters ago that was by now. hopefully the other ones will be harder to figure out, unless you'd like them to be easier. idk. which one is more enjoyable, when you can see it coming or when you have to either dig deep or be surprised? lmk and i will write accordingly


	51. Karl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys are back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i've caused enough pain for now. all i do is write angst, be asexual, eat hot chip and lie, and i want to change that. not for long, don't worry, we'll be back to your regularly scheduled pain and suffering soon. but in the meantime i will grant you one (1) chapter of fluff.
> 
> cw for drug use lol

“Hey, babe.” Quackity’s head lolled around in Karl’s lap, his arms wandering around, searching for an embrace. “Missed you.” 

Karl would have liked nothing more than to wrap his arms around his boyfriend, but he didn’t. Instead he looked to Tubbo, who looked incredibly embarrassed. “What happened?” he asked.

“He’s high,” Tubbo said. “We gave him some painkillers and then he stopped by Connor’s and couldn’t get home on his own. I think he said something about not being able to face you sober.”

“That’s true, I did say that,” Quackity confirmed.

“Also, he cried twice and nearly threw up on us.”

“That’s also true. It was a very near miss,” Ranboo said from across the room. 

“In his defense, he has been shot,” Tubbo said, and Karl’s eyes widened in alarm. 

“Barely,” Quackity corrected, seeing the panic in his face. “Barely shot. Karl, I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”   


“Not in front of the kids,” Karl told him, giving in and gently stroking his hair. There was no point at being mad at Quackity right now, not when he was like this. “Where were you shot, babe?”   


“Ear,” Quackity and Tubbo said in unison. “He’s got a little chunk of ear missing now,” Tubbo said. “I don’t think it’ll be too noticeable once it’s healed, though.” Karl took Quackity’s ear in his hands, which was lightly bandaged. His face was mostly clean but still a little bit bloody, all of it old and dry blood, thankfully. 

“He claims he can hear fine out of it,” Ranboo added. “I don’t think he can. But Phil told me any hearing loss wouldn’t be permanent, so don’t worry.”

“Thanks, guys,” Karl said. “Q and I are going to have a little talk now, if you don’t mind.”

Tubbo made a face. “Don’t have to ask us twice. Come on, Rambo, let’s go.” They left quickly, probably assuming Karl and Quackity were about to do a little more than talking, but right now it was the furthest thing from Karl’s mind.

“Are they gone?” Quackity asked Karl groggily. “Is it just you and me?” 

“It is.” Karl took hold of Quackity’s hands and held them down. Quackity was soft and pliable when he got like this, letting himself be moved, so Karl didn’t have to be anything but gentle. “Come on, try to sit up for me, all right?”

“Nah.” Quackity turned his head so his face was buried into Karl’s sweatshirt. “I need to tell you something,” he said, voice muffled. “I talked to George today.”

“You did?” Karl asked. “Isn’t he bad now?”

“I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to tell you this, but he’s good. He’s all good. He’s been helping me out, you know. Karl, you’re gonna love this.” Q wriggled his hands away and slid them into the pocket of Karl’s sweatshirt, which Karl was fine with. They'd be safe inside there. “I’m gonna get Sapnap back for you.”

You’re gonna-  _ what?  _ Do you mean it?” Karl didn’t believe Quackity right away, not when he was acting like this, anyway, but he held out hope. He’d been holding out hope this entire time, because without it he didn’t know what he would be doing. Crying all the time, probably.

“Yeah, I know you’re upset with me and you like Sapnap better, so I’m gonna fix it and get him back for you. George said he doesn’t like Dream anymore, but he likes you, it’ll be perfect and then you can be happy again-”

“Wait. Hold on. Stop there.” Karl slid his hands inside of his sweatshirt pocket, wrapping his and Quackity’s fingers together. “What did you just say? Did you say I liked Sapnap better?”

“Well, that’s why you’ve been so upset with me because he’s gone, I figured if I got him back you’d be happy again and I-”

“No,” Karl said, feeling tears begin to well up in his eyes.  _ “No,” _ he repeated for emphasis. “I don’t love Sapnap more than you. I don’t prefer one of you to the other, Quackity, that’s ridiculous. Of course I’m upset that he’s gone, but that doesn’t mean it’s your fault. I’m only upset that you keep leaving me behind, but I don’t love you any less.”

“Oh,” Quackity breathed. He weakly squeezed Karl’s hands, flexing his fingers without any real purpose. “Oh, I thought you did. Oops.”

Karl pulled an unprotesting Quackity up into a sitting position, letting Q lean against his shoulder and draping a blanket around them both. “When you come down from whatever Connor gave you I am going to kiss you so hard,” he promised.

“Why don’t you just do it now?” Quackity mumbled sleepily.

“I know you’d be okay with it if I did, but I’m not going to. You’re not yourself. You’re tired, you’re injured, you’re high, and you’ve just been through a really stressful day. I want you to know after you wake up that I mean it, alright? I want you to remember it.”

Quackity nodded, yawning widely, and Karl made sure to stay very, very still as he watched him drift off to sleep.

He smelled flowers.

“I got flowers from Niki,” Quackity said from the kitchen as Karl woke up to the flowers. They were roses, pretty ones, and all the thorns had been carefully cut off. “They’re kind of an apology, I guess. For the way I’ve been acting. I was being a dick.”

Karl stood up and stretched, plucking up a petal that had fallen to the ground and following the sound of Quackity’s voice to the kitchen. He tucked the petal behind Quackity’s ear, smoothing strands of his long dark hair over it so it wouldn’t fall out. “I’m sorry too,” he said, hugging Q from behind. "For making you think I favored Sapnap over you."

“There you are.” Quackity stopped what he was doing and spun around in Karl’s arms, standing on his toes for a moment to plant a soft kiss on Karl’s nose. Karl couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Don't worry about that, I was being stupid last night. I got us a surprise for breakfast.” He had bags under his eyes and a weary look on his face, but the second he’d lain eyes on Karl, it had all melted away.

“Ooh, is it more unappetizing goop?” Karl asked in phony excitement. He knew Quackity got more honest when he was drunk or high, not less, but he decided to let the topic go. It didn't really matter, as long as he focused on making Q feel loved.   
  
“Nope!” With one arm wrapped around Karl, Quackity twisted and grabbed the plate behind him with the other arm, holding it between them. “It’s fruit.”

Fruit was rare outside of the harvest season. For two harvests now it had been quickly eaten up, no one having any self-control to save it better. Whatever they had left to freeze was rationed carefully for the rest of the year. Karl looked at the strawberries and blueberries on the plate, some of them with chunks of ice attached. He didn’t mind. They were better frozen than reheated anyway. “Babe, you didn’t.”

“I did,” Quackity confirmed.

“Roses and fruit. This is better than my birthday.”

“It’ll only get better,” Quackity said, leading him to the table. “Come on, let’s eat.” Karl didn’t need to be told twice. 

He let Quackity feed him berries one at a time, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. He slipped a few blueberries into Quackity’s mouth in return. “You deserve fruit too,” he said. 

“Karl,” Quackity said, “you were right.”

“God, you know I love to hear that.” Karl leaned back in his chair, popping half a strawberry in his mouth and savoring the flavor. “What about?”

“Everything,” Quackity said. “You were right that we should try to get Dream’s allies away from him. That’s what we’re doing, once everyone’s healed up. Bad’s shoulder will probably take the longest. Whoever got him there, got him good.”

“You mean- you’re not fighting them again, are you?”

“We don’t plan to,” Quackity clarified quickly. “What we want to do, if everything goes right, is go to the address George gave me with everyone we got so Dream sees he’s hopelessly outnumbered, and then we just talk. You and me, we talk to Sapnap. When I told Tubbo about my plan, he wanted to do the same with Tommy. That’ll be up to him and Tommy’s dad, probably. Don’t know what the hell to do about Punz, honestly, but that’s not my problem, Bad thinks he can do something about that. It’ll be just like you wanted. No stabbing, no killing, we save everyone and then Dream’s on his own.”

“What about George?” Karl asked. “Who’s going to talk to him?”

“Huh? Oh, George is the one who’s helping me out, babe. He doesn’t need convincing, he’s on our side already. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh. Right.” Karl began to feel almost excited at the prospect of Q listening to his ideas, helping Sapnap, all three of them being together. It felt real and in his grasp, for the first time in so, so long. “This is amazing. I love you so much, babe.” Ditching the strawberries, he wrapped himself around Quackity, sitting on his lap with his legs straddling the chair, facing him, draping his arms over Quackity's shoulders. “Do you remember what I said last night?”

“Not even a little bit,” Quackity confessed freely. “Please tell me it was something about kissing me right now.” 

Karl was already taller than him, but sitting on his legs, he was able to rest his head on top of Quackity’s. He tilted Quackity’s chin up to face him. “I said if I kissed you, I’d want you to remember it.”

“I doubt I could ever forget,” Quackity responded, meeting him in the middle. “Even if I was asleep, I’d know it in my dreams.”

In his head, Karl heard the faint sounds of his boyfriend tuning a guitar, grinning devilishly as he played the first few chords of what could have been any song in the world He heard him sing, really sing, not just the excited, careless shouting he’d come to expect from Quackity, but the soft, loving singing voice he used to reassure Wilbur’s army on darker days. That was how Karl had fallen in love with him in the first place, listening from a distance as the sound of the guitar drifted over the sad walls of L’Manburg and into his ears. 

The next day he’d snuck into L’Manburg and introduced himself, tried his hand at the guitar, gave up and sang along with Quackity for hours. It made Quackity happy, which made everyone else happy, and Wilbur understood that they needed Karl. The kids could only take on so much misery before giving up, and besides, Karl was harmless. Dream wanted him to do some spying while he was there, but Karl refused and Dream didn't push it. No one pushed it with Karl. He was joy, and they couldn't touch him. He always got what he wanted.

He and Quackity had been friends ever since, and sometimes they’d exchange desperate kisses in the middle of the night. Things with Sapnap weren't official or exclusive anyway; no one really did that anymore. It suited them both fine for a while, u ntil it didn’t. 

Now they had this.

It was better, even if everything else was worse, that Quackity was here underneath him, hands clinging to Karl’s back, stupidly in love. His guitar hung from the wall in the other room, his soft voice right here, humming something soft and beautiful into Karl’s throat, his anger parting ways, like it always did when Karl had his say, for his music. Karl knew music could be hard for him. It was Wilbur’s thing, too, and Wilbur had so many terrible things. But he loved the music. It was all he wanted to hear, and whenever they kissed, he got what he wanted.

All he wanted was this. 

“I love you so fucking much, what the hell,” Quackity mumbled against his lips, and that was music too. “Karl, you asshole. You get me like this every time without even trying.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Karl whispered back, combing his hands through Quackity's hair as tenderly as he could, hoping it'd drive him wild. 

He relaxed, listening only to the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> roses and fruit (derogatory) 
> 
> someone take chapter notes away from me


	52. Eret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the kid's got his secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fundy, a dramatic teenager, mystifies his father figure for shits and giggles.
> 
> not sure why this chapter ended up being about 500 words longer than average, but it did, and you all have to sit through it. i played around a lot with the way fundy communicates. short answer- not too well. he's got the answers to yes or no questions down pat, but the more complex you get, the less his responses will make sense. once again, this is pulled from experience, because i am projecting onto every single character in this story.

Fundy didn’t trust them anymore.

Eret could tell. They probably deserved this for letting Dream get his hands on him, but god, it still hurt. Fundy would always follow them around, quietly tailing them, as they went about the house and the town. It was sweet, and Eret was happy to have him there. Now, however, he didn’t grab Eret’s hand whenever it was free, he just watched. Sometimes he would go off on his own, meeting Eret again a few hours later, without a word as to where he’d gone.

Eret didn’t scold or punish him for it, because they were a parental figure and not a parent. Fundy, like everyone else who had made it to this point, deserved his freedom to do what he liked. Eret would never take that from him. But they didn’t pretend as if it didn’t upset them, either.

He was silent now, on some sort of strike. Occasionally he would sign if Eret asked him a question. Mostly, he would watch. It wasn’t unusual for Fundy to go a day or two without speaking, and it wasn’t any trouble for Eret to speak to him in sign language, but it was another symptom of this growing problem. It showed no sign of going away on its own. Eret would have to talk to him about it.

“Hungry?” Eret asked Fundy one night.

_ Very,  _ Fundy signed, and Eret made sure to make extra. They let Fundy decide how much he wanted on his plate, as usual. They did everything right. 

“I think we have to talk,” they said, sitting down at the table beside him. 

_ No,  _ Fundy signed.

“You can sign if you want. You’re under no obligation to speak. And this isn’t something you have to worry about. I just want to hear what’s on your mind, kid.” Eret reached out to affectionately ruffle Fundy’s hair, and Fundy nodded, letting them. That was a good sign. 

_ Okay,  _ Fundy signed, his hands reluctant, lazy.  _ Talk. _

“I know something’s changed with you, Fundy, the way you’ve been acting. You have every right to start becoming more independent from me if that’s what you want, I just want us to communicate. I want to hear your side of things.”

_ I- _ Fundy stopped, dropping his hands below the table and out of Eret’s view. They saw the flurry of movement, Fundy signing much too quickly for Eret to understand. He was signing it out for himself to be sure, they realized. “I don’t know how to feel about you right now,” Fundy explained. “I’m confused.”

“What, specifically, is the problem you’re having?”

More frantic signing. “I don’t know what I want, I don’t know how I feel about what you’re doing. What you did when Dream had me. It confused me.”

“Was it because I couldn’t keep you safe?” Eret asked. Fundy shook his head. “Then what did I do wrong?”

“I’m not sure you did,” Fundy said. “Well- threatening to kill George. It was scary. I didn’t like it. You sounded like Dream.”

“Oh, okay.” Eret rubbed Fundy’s back reassuringly. “Well, I can tell you that it was just a show. I wouldn’t really have hurt George. I’m not that kind of person. I just did what I had to do to get you all to safety. I had to play Dream’s game for a second, but I’m nothing like him.”

_ No,  _ Fundy signed, the motion aggressive, his fingers snapping shut. “Don’t fool me,” he said. “Okay? I’m trying to think how I feel about you and Q and Niki and everybody.”

“About- what do you mean?” How had Fundy found out about Quackity’s little meetings? If the information had tricked down all the way to him, it probably meant everyone knew. But that made no sense. Puffy and Sam wouldn’t have stood for it, and they’d seemed fine last time Eret saw them.

“You all are going to kill Dream,” Fundy said.

Well, there was no point in continuing to evade him. “We don’t want people to keep getting hurt,” Eret explained. “It’s the only way, really. You don’t have to agree with me, Fundy, but please keep it quiet.”

“I always do.” Fundy gave him a sly smile, one that Eret would be wondering about for days. “I’ve been thinking, that’s all. People always lie to me, I figure out the truth from their lie, it’s fine. It’s okay if you try to hide stuff from me. I just don’t know if I like some of them. I don’t care for Jack Manifold. I like Big Q, I think he’s getting better. I don’t know if you’re getting better. I want you to.”

“You don’t…” Now it was Eret’s turn to be completely confused. “I’m sorry, Fundy, I guess I don’t understand what you’re trying to say at all.”

“I know,” Fundy said, a little sadly. “Wilbur would say that’s a good thing.”

“Well, Wilbur’s gone,” Eret reminded him. “You’ve got me now.”

“I know,” he repeated. “It’s not your problem, Eret. I’m thinking. I’ll let you know if I figure it out.”

Eret had more questions now than they’d started with. For all their insistence on thinking of Fundy as his own person, they hadn’t expected this kind of depth from him, this elusiveness. They suspected it was more leftover trauma they had yet to unpack together. Another long process, and that was alright.

“Take your time,” they reassured him. “But just remember that I love you, alright? All I want is for you to feel safe and cared for. I want you to be happy. If there’s anything I can do differently to make that happen, let me know.” 

“Okay, Dad, I will. You have to go see Quackity in an hour,” Fundy reminded them.

“How do you know that?”

“I won’t follow you. I’m trying to respect people’s privacy, I’ve just decided.” That was Fundy’s roundabout way of answering. He’d been eavesdropping on things he shouldn’t have, apparently. Eret wasn’t surprised. Fundy had a special skill for going unnoticed. They’d had to constantly fight past it in order to care for him and make sure he was getting what he needed.

When Eret left later that night, they realized that Fundy had called them Dad earlier, and they blushed with pride.

“So if we’re not killing Dream yet, and we’re not killing Tommy at all, then what exactly is the point?” Jack Manifold demanded, throwing up his arms. “I get it when plans fail, god knows I’ve had my fair share of those, but why is the plan  _ not  _ to kill Dream? That makes no goddamn sense!”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Jack,” Bad said. “If it all succeeds and Dream’s isolated, that’s our best chance right there. Otherwise he’ll slip away and figure something else out on his own.”

“I know, I know.” Quackity waved them off. “But I made a promise. It doesn’t mean that killing Dream is off the table. I still want that bastard dead. But it’s not going to happen on this specific day, are we clear?” 

“You made a promise?” Eret asked. “To who, about what?”

Quackity glared at them. “I’m not sure I want to disclose that,” he said. “I’m not sure it’s any of your business.” 

“I bet he said something to his boyfriend,” Niki said. “Let him have this. We can get Dream later, it’ll be fine.”

Niki was the only one of them that stood a chance getting Jack to stand down, and once again she delivered a success. Bad relented too, of course, having no desire to continue pushing for something that Jack had given up.

Eret, personally, would have liked to see Dream dead, but it was probably counterproductive for the recovery of his victims to watch him be murdered in front of them. It would be better for Tommy and Sapnap if they took care of Dream later, with little fanfare, so as not to disturb them further. Eret imagined that being manipulated by Dream was an incredibly traumatic experience, and witnessing his death firsthand would only add fuel to that fire.

“Bad,” Eret asked, “I’ve been wondering, where’s Ant? Is he alright?”

“Scared for his life, and I don’t blame him,” Bad said. “He and Skeppy are staying at Sam’s place. I don’t trust Sam enough to invite him along to these, but of course I absolutely trust him to keep my friends safe, and so does Ant.”

“He’s afraid because of how Dream threatened him?” Niki asked. God, she and Eret made a brilliant tag team. Even Eret had a hard time telling whether or not she was doing it on purpose. Almost everything she said sounded innocuous enough to fly under the radar.

“Well, that and he got a pretty unsettling message the other day too. Woke up with a fairly deep cut around his throat and a threatening letter from Dream. He’s alright, it’s already healing, just scared, you know? Anyone would be.”

“Eret, that might mean you should be more careful too,” Quackity observed. “It’s just you and Fundy in that house of yours, right? Maybe invite someone over for a while.”

“That’s… not a bad idea.” Eret hadn’t considered that yet, but now it sent a shiver down their spine at the idea of Dream crawling through their bedroom window, killing Eret with a flick of his knife and moving on to Fundy… Eret would never forgive themself if that happened. “Oh, god. I left Fundy home alone… I didn’t even think to worry about him, but now…”

“I’ll stay with you guys tonight,” Niki instantly volunteered. “Bad, could you let Puffy know? Tell her she’s welcome to join us if she wants.”

Bad nodded, and Eret didn’t waste another second. “Thank you, Niki,” they said. “I’m leaving now, I’m sorry. I can’t risk it.”

“I’ll come.” Niki joined them, keeping pace without a problem despite her legs being much shorter. She’d always been quick on her feet. “I’d kill Dream tonight if we find him there. He’s not touching Fundy.”

“Of course,” was Eret’s only response. They didn’t waste any more breath on speaking, focusing only on getting home to Fundy as fast as they could. They breathed a sigh of relief when they turned the corner to see the house sitting intact, with the streetlights and the lights of the lower level still on. The light was safer. It warded away zombies, it warded away Dream.

They stopped dead on seeing the chalk smiley face drawn across their driveway.

“Move,” Niki said, pushing them. “Gun out. We’ll kill him right here if he hasn’t left. Don’t think about it, just go.”

She was right. Eret took a deep breath and followed her in the house, trying not to think about what Dream could have done to Fundy in their absence, trying not to think about how it would be all their fault. Inside, nothing seemed out of place, but Fundy was nowhere to be seen.

“Fundy!” Niki shouted. “Where are you?”

“Niki?” Fundy’s voice came from the kitchen. Eret ran towards the sound, to see Fundy peacefully eating out of a can of green beans, seemingly unharmed. “Hey, guys.”

“Thank god,” Eret said, relieved. “You’re okay? Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” Fundy looked up at Eret inquisitively. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Was Dream here?” Niki asked him.

“Oh. Yeah, he was outside. I watched from the window, but all he did was draw a little smiley face and then leave.” They both put their guns away, relieved.

“Why would he do that?” Niki asked. “What’s the point? Just to freak us out?”

“He’s telling you he could kill me whenever he wants,” Fundy said flippantly. “To keep you in line. I bet he knows about your secret club.”

Niki’s head whipped accusingly to face Eret. “What the hell have you been telling him, Eret? I thought the whole point was to leave the kids out of it, to keep them safe?”

“They haven’t told me anything,” Fundy said before Eret could speak. “I just know.”

“God. Okay.” Niki sat down in one of the dining room chairs, resting her elbows on the table and combing her hair out of her face. “Just- give me a second to process.”

“This is as new to me as it is to you,” Eret told her, checking to make sure Fundy wasn’t secretly bleeding out from his head or stomach and hiding it from them. His shirt was clean of blood, thankfully. “Well, almost as new.”

“Oh, and Dad, I’ve decided,” Fundy said. “About Dream.”

“What did you decide, Fundy?” Eret sat down beside him, relaxing their body, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. They wanted Fundy to know that whatever answer he gave, Eret would accept it.

“I think it’s alright,” he said softly. “If you kill him. I think it’s good.”

“Oh,” they said. “Well, that’s good to hear, Fundy. I’m glad.”

“As long as you don’t replace him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's so goddamn hard to remember all the story threads i'm writing here. this is why people keep their fics to three or four characters and keep everyone else in the background, huh? shoutout to the commenter who mentioned quackity's rings for karl and sapnap last chapter, because i completely fucking forgot about them. 
> 
> if you're ever wondering, hey, what happened to this plot line? there's a 50% chance it's coming back to bite you in the ass, and a 50% chance i forgot it existed.


	53. Quackity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a fluffy fiancé reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most days i wake up and choose violence, but today is a day... for peace.
> 
> barely edited because i have one last midterm to do today and don't have the time, so expect a lot of adhd-fueled run-on sentences.

They were nervous. Quackity couldn’t blame them. 

Tubbo and Ranboo held hands, murmuring quietly to each other. Eret looked exhausted. They probably hadn’t slept a wink last night. Niki and Puffy were similarly sleep-deprived, and Fundy seemed carefree and refreshed, dancing around the three of them, but Quackity knew now not to trust that innocent little face. Not that he distrusted Fundy overall. He didn’t. But he knew that the kid wasn’t all that he seemed. 

Bad, Ant, and Sam stood together, talking amongst themselves, passing around ammunition, loading weapons. Ant looked unsettled and unhappy, but he’d already assured Quackity that he wouldn’t be staying behind for this. He wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated. If Dream wanted to kill him, he could have easily done so, but he’d held off. Jack Manifold stood on his own, glowering down on them all, side-eyeing Tubbo and Ranboo in particular, whatever that was about. Philza and Technoblade glared back at him, keeping an eye on the kids. Techno hated L’Manburg, but he’d acknowledged that he’d have to work with Tommy’s former friends in order to get his brother back. He was fiercely protective and intimidating when he wanted to be. 

Karl stood beside him, hand in Quackity’s. He had a knife, but that was it, and Quackity knew he was as likely to use it on Dream as he was to use it on Quackity. Karl just wasn’t a fighter. He’d always been reliant on Quackity and Sapnap to protect him, a job they’d both been happy to do. 

“I’ve got to tell you something before we go,” Quackity said to Karl. He slipped his hand into his pocket and closed his fist around the rings. His hand shook, but he didn’t know why. He knew Karl would accept. He was being dumb.

“Ooh, what is it?” Karl turned to face him. He’d been staring wistfully into the distance like a boy in a music video. He was pretty enough to be in one, even after the end of the world. 

Quackity opened his hand to reveal the rings. He’d looted a nearby jeweler for them, which had been more difficult of a task than it seemed. Jewelers were one of the first places to be hit when society fell apart, by idiots who would all turn to zombies soon enough since their survival instincts were so out of whack. Only the least valuable of rings were left. Not that it mattered to Quackity. What made them valuable was what they meant, not the market value from back when there was still a market. 

“Are those- oh, my god.” Karl blushed. “Babe, that’s so sweet. Are we seriously gonna have a wedding and everything? Can I wear mine now?”

“I hadn’t thought about a wedding,” Quackity confessed. “I mean, marriage was always kind of dumb to me anyway. But now that there’s no certificates and tax benefits and rules and shit, I figured we’d all just decide we were married. I’m not-” He paused to look at Karl, who was still smiling like an idiot. “I’m not big on ceremonies. I just figured we could get Sapnap back like this, and have something physical to tie us all together.”

Karl slipped the ring onto his finger, still blushing furiously. “I love it. I love you. You’re so sweet. God, it’s gonna be so good today, we’ll get everyone back and the war will be over…”

Quackity wished with all his heart that the war ended here, today. He didn’t know what he’d do afterwards, but he did know it was everything he wanted. No more war. No more fighting. He slipped another of the rings onto his finger, leaving the largest one for Sapnap.

He turned around, back towards everyone, to tell them exactly that. Sapnap’s ring weighed heavy in his pocket, but he felt sure it’d be on his finger by the end of the day. “Everyone,” he said. The background chatter died down quickly, and Quackity stepped down from his somewhat higher vantage point to be on even footing with them- meaning he was shorter than quite a few of the people there. That was fine. He was used to it. “This could be it.”

“Hell yeah,” Eret said, with as much enthusiasm as they could muster from how sleep-deprived they were. 

“Hell yeah,” a few people echoed. There were hopeful expressions all around, and it buoyed Quackity’s spirits too. He fed on other people’s energy, and for so long there was so little to go around.

“Just a few blocks from here, Dream’s sitting down to do his evil little plotting, trying to split us apart and keep us scared and scattered. But we’re all here together, ready to get our friends back, ready to protect ourselves. We already won. We outnumber him by so much. We’re together, and we’ve got trust. And all that sappy shit.”

“We’ve got the power of friendship,” Tubbo put in with a cheeky grin. 

“Yeah we do! So let’s fucking go!”

“Language,” Bad said, but there was no rancor in it.

They kept their cheers quiet, so as not to alert Dream to their presence, and went. 

Into the house of nightmares, where nothing could be trusted, Quackity held tight to Karl’s hand and refused to let his guard down. There was old blood on the floors that no one had cleaned, and the scent of things dying but not yet dead. No, it wasn’t a scent. It was a feeling.

Well, Sapnap wouldn’t be one of the dying things. Not if Quackity had any say in it. 

George and Sapnap both sat on the couch when they entered. Neither made any move to fight or flee, but both stared in shock, George’s very much feigned. There was something so goddamn unsettling about the whole thing, about how briefly domestic they’d looked, leaning back against a blanket covered in rusty stains that had faded from red to ugly brown. George had murder in his eyes, and Sapnap had nothing but fear.

“Please,” Sapnap said, and that was all.

Karl fell on top of him, forgetting all caution to wrap his arms around Sapnap. “Oh, god. Sappy, please. Please come back to me. Come back to us. We’re getting you out, you’re going to be safe and happy again, I love you so much, please-”

Appearing stunned, Sapnap returned the hug, his eyes meeting Quackity’s as he did so. “Holy shit. Karl, I missed you so much I could have died.” They met in a kiss, and if Quackity’s heart wasn’t pounding so fast in his chest he would have joined them. As it was, he stood back. He’d get his affection later. He wasn’t going to let himself be that vulnerable in the same building as Dream.

“He’s upstairs,” George confirmed dully, his eyes darting from person to person, never quite landing, regarding them all with suspicion. “He’ll kill you the second any of you touch me, so I’d advise against it. I can’t always stop him.” 

“We’re not going to hurt you, dude. This is a rescue mission.” The members of the Badlands, the rest of L’Manburg’s cabinet, Phil, and Techno had already left, splitting off to find the house’s other residents. Eret had gone with Fundy, so there was no one left for George to be afraid of in the room. Quackity turned to Sapnap, pulling out the ring, praying to any god that would listen that he’d accept it this time. Karl peeled from his side, arm still slung around Sapnap, to allow Quackity to present it. 

“You’re gonna like this,” Karl promised. The terror hadn’t left Sapnap’s eyes yet, but he nodded.

Quackity gave it to him. He didn’t have any words to go along with it; _Will you marry me?_ sounded dumb and old-fashioned, and _Sapnap, please come back to us_ had already been said. _I love you_ was obvious, unspoken, unnecessary. Karl flashed his own ring under Sapnap’s nose, eager to gauge his response. Sapnap turned bright red when he took the ring into his hands.

“I should have said yes last time,” Sapnap said, “but I was afraid of what would happen.”

“We forgive you,” Karl said. “I don’t care what happened with Dream. I don’t care if you were with him, as long as you’re with us now, okay? Don’t even worry about it, because we love you and we want you back and we’ll help you get better however we can.”

“God, I can’t-” He was crying, which made all three of them cry. Sapnap waved Quackity in, and Quackity couldn’t resist anymore. He watched as Sapnap put on the ring, tears pouring down his face. “I love you guys,” Sapnap sobbed. He dug into Quackity’s arm, forgetting his strength, and Quackity let him. Sapnap couldn’t hurt him, even if he tried.

It was so easy, it was so perfect. It didn’t seem real, how simple it had been. He had Sapnap back, he had Karl crying tears of joy and not despair, he had both his boyfriends at his side and the fear of Dream’s retribution fading from his mind. He clung to Sapnap tightly, his other hand finding Karl’s and grasping on with less force but just as much desperation. He felt held, he felt safe, he felt like he was in love.

He only hoped the others would be as successful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> traveler, what have you seen? is updating later today and getting stupid fluffy. i'm imagining if someone were to read that story first and then come to this one. fucking whiplash lmao
> 
> coming up tomorrow, philza and tubbo find tommy and talk to him. techno is there. angst will occur. will almost definitely be from tommy's pov. hopefully i'll be able to make some people cry.


	54. Tommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit... complicated. it starts out as a flashback, an old memory, and ends up as something else. more explanations will be at the end.

“Do you think you’d ever kill someone?” Tubbo asked him. 

Tommy just stared at him. They had spent the last three days fighting Dream and his friends almost non-stop to protect L’Manburg, and they were doing so well, too. Wilbur was proud of them. Wilbur was proud of Tommy. Tommy was such a good vice president, he was strong, he was quick and smart, he would never be caught. And if he was, what would they do? Murder a fourteen-year-old in cold blood? Tommy didn’t know fear, and he didn’t know failure. All he knew was war.

“That’s kind of a dumb question,” he answered Tubbo. “Too open-ended.”

“Well, Dream, I guess. Would you kill Dream? He’s always fighting us, always trying to take away L’Manburg. Would you kill him if you had to?”

“What? No, I wouldn’t kill Dream. I mean, I’d hurt him. I’ve done it before. But I wouldn’t kill him. Sure, he’s awful, but he saved all of us from the zombies.”

“Wilbur would kill Dream,” Tubbo said. “If he could.”

Yeah. Yeah, Tubbo was right. Wilbur would kill Dream. Tommy was surprised he hadn’t tried already. Wilbur was a good leader, protective of everyone in L’Manburg, and Dream was a threat, trying to take apart what they’d worked so hard on. Why wouldn’t Wilbur want him dead?

That didn’t mean Tommy wanted him dead, though. Wilbur was an adult, and Tommy was just a kid. He didn’t want anyone dead.

“What if,” Tubbo said, “you had to kill either Dream or me.”

“Tubbo, what’s the point of this? I don’t like you talking like this, big man. It’s creepy. I’d never kill you, so just shut up, okay?”

“Okay.” Tubbo blinked at him, his fingers curling and uncurling from the handle of the knife he held in his nervous hands. “I was just checking.”

“Are you okay? Why are you asking me this stuff?”

Tubbo’s lip wobbled. “I had a nightmare,” he confessed. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It was just a really bad dream.”

For some reason, Tommy was tempted to give his friend a hug, but he didn’t. “Well, get over it, alright?” he said, shoving at Tubbo’s shoulder instead. “I’m not gonna kill you, ever. That’s stupid. You’re being stupid.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Tubbo’s face brightened at the reassurance. “I’m being clingy again, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. He stood up and stretched, the bruises that covered his body protesting at the unexpected movement. He wiggled his hands, reaching them down towards his toes, but his legs were too long for his arm span and he couldn’t reach all the way down. It was something he was embarrassed about on occasion, especially when his best friend was so flexible. Tubbo could touch his toes. He could bend over backwards and stand on his head. He could even do the splits. 

Tommy could not do the splits. 

At least he wasn’t as tall as Wilbur. That would just be weird. Imagine if he was taller than Wilbur, at fourteen years old! It would be so funny. Wilbur would be giving one of his speeches before battle, and Tommy would go up and stand next to him and just prop his arm up on Wilbur’s head. It would be hilarious.

“Tubbo, what if I had giant stilts for legs?” he asked.

Without missing a beat, Tubbo said, “Then I’d steal your kneecaps.”

“No, think about it. I just stand on these giant stilts and walk around and I’d be, like, two and a half meters tall. Way taller than Wilbur, and I’d pick you up like a little baby and swing you around-”

“Please don’t,” Tubbo said, as if Tommy was likely to do just that at any moment. Which was a fair assumption. “Uh, I think Wilbur’s calling me, Tommy, gotta go…”

“What? No, he’s not.” Tommy looked around for Wilbur, but he was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t even in the area. “I can’t hear him.”

“Listen harder. You’ll hear him.”

Tommy did as Tubbo suggested, closing his eyes and straining his ears. If Wilbur was nearby, Tommy wanted to hear his voice. It’d been so long…

“Tommy, why are you with Dream now?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Not doing this,” Tommy told Wilbur confidently. “I’ve done this enough times already. I’m done listening to you. You’ve done nothing but lie and hurt me and confuse me, and I’ve had enough.”

“I know,” Wilbur said. “I’m sorry. I’ll never be able to make up for it. But right now, I want you safe, and this isn’t safe. Dream is bad for you. He hurts people and he always has, he hurt us back in the day, don’t you remember? So many times.”

Well, that was new.

“I don’t expect you to get it,” Tommy said. “You never understood what I’ve been through. You couldn’t possibly. So don’t act like you know what you’re talking about.”

Wilbur was here, so it was a dream. That meant Tommy could say whatever he wanted and it would all be gone when he woke up. It was perfect, because he’d been meaning to get some things off his chest anyway. He worked hard to bury his feelings, and he wasn’t going to be caught slipping, even if this was how he had to cope.

“So help me understand.” Wilbur knelt down, grabbing Tommy’s hands in his, squeezing them tightly. Tommy would have flinched at the touch, but it was Wilbur, and Wilbur would never, ever hurt him. “Tell me what happened to you. Tell me what Dream did. Tell me everything. You don’t have to be afraid of what will happen if you do, I promise.”

“I don’t like to think about it,” Tommy said. “It hurts.” Fuck, he sounded like a little kid. He wasn’t a little kid, he was fully grown! He was almost as tall as Wilbur now, just like he’d always wanted, and he was stronger than almost anyone. He wasn’t a fucking child. 

“Yeah,” Wilbur said. “Shit hurts sometimes. But it’ll keep hurting if you don’t let it out once in a while.”

“But it’s dumb,” Tommy said. “You’ll be mad. You’ll say I should have fought back. You’ll say I should have known better. I’ve done horrible things. So many horrible things. You’d never forgive me for it, never. And it’s gotten to this point that I can’t really do anything about it. I’ve let it get to this point. I’m just stuck here. It’s my fault.”

“You can do something about it,” Wilbur said, his voice going soft. “You can come with us.”

Us? Who was us? 

“I’m not coming with you,” Tommy scoffed. “That’s not happening.”

“I won’t force you. But tell me, Tommy. Tell me everything.”

He did. He told Wilbur all about how Dream had hurt him, over and over, back in exile, and left him to die. He told Wilbur about how he had started dying, but Dream dragged him down to a basement in hell and filled his veins with fire, and after that his body was different, his eyes and ears were different, his mind was different too. So full of things, so full of whispers. He’d managed to pummel them all down so he could bear it, but when he did, he’d lost the things he cared about. His friends. His family. They were buried down there with the noises and the pain and the memories, and he couldn’t get them back without opening it all up again.

So he stuck with Dream, because Dream made it so easy to push it all down. He was doing the same with all his bad shit, and he taught Tommy how. It was good. It was safe. It was easy. And if Dream asked him to do something, Tommy just did it, because what did he care? The part of him that cared was so far removed from him, it might as well not exist. That was how he liked it. It was so much nicer than before, when he had to think about what Wilbur had done all the time and cry like a baby. He wasn’t a baby. He wasn’t a fucking child anymore. Wilbur had seen to that.

“You made me like this,” he said. “You’re why I have to hide it. None of it would have happened if it weren’t for you and everything you ever did to me, it’s all your fault, it’s all…”

He was fully sobbing now, and Wilbur’s arms were around him, hands rubbing gently across his back. It didn’t hurt like it did in real life. It felt safe, like he was back home with his family. 

“God, just take me home,” he sobbed, unable to control himself. His throat heaved, desperately trying to catch his breath as tears streamed fiercely from his eyes, a torrential downpour that he couldn’t stop. “I just want to go home.”

“I can take you there,” Wilbur promised.

But where was home anymore? Trying to remember the last place he could call home, he came up with nothing. None of the places he’d lived in were places he cared about. He’d had a home at one point, he was sure, but he’d forgotten all the details. He’d been too young to remember it. “You’re- you’re lying. There is no home.”

“No, but there’s me. Home is people. Home is love. Doesn’t matter where it is.” Wilbur was crying too, which was just wrong. Wilbur didn’t cry.

It was all wrong. Wilbur never cried. Tommy had never seen Wilbur cry, not once in his life. He was too strong to cry, too brave. Wilbur had screamed himself hoarse in rage, he’d ranted himself into a manic fit, he’d laughed madly until a few tears escaped his eyes, but he’d never, ever, cried from sadness like this. He didn’t get sad. He got angry. He got murderous.

This wasn’t Wilbur. 

Tommy had let himself forget that his brother was still dead. All of this was inside his brain. Which meant, if anyone was listening, they might have heard him thrashing about in his bed in a cold sweat. He couldn’t show weakness like that. He had to wake himself up. He had to-

He opened his eyes.

“Tommy?” a voice asked. 

The weight of the hands wrapped around him hadn’t lifted, but the face he looked up into was Tubbo’s. Was this another memory? No, this Tubbo was scarred, older, a deadly serious expression on his face. He was terrified, but not _of_ Tommy. No, he was terrified _for_ Tommy. And Tommy had to wonder just how much of the conversation he’d heard.

“Tubbo?” he asked, confused. “It was you?”

“Uh, yeah, who else would it be?”

No, first of all, why was Tubbo here? And why was he _touching him?_

“Get off,” Tommy said, shoving Tubbo’s arms away with enough force to send Tubbo stumbling backwards. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare put your hands on me.”

“I’m sorry,” Tubbo gasped, “I thought you were leaning into it, I thought,” he doubled over, resting his hands on his knees, “you needed me. I’m sorry. I won’t touch you if you don’t like it.”

Tommy raised his hand to his face and found that his cheeks were wet. So he’d been crying in real life too. And Tubbo had been hugging him in real life. And Phil was there, standing over him, arms crossed and eyes soft and worried, also wet with tears. 

No. No, no, they couldn’t be here. It wasn’t safe.

“You guys need to leave,” Tommy growled at them, pulling himself together and shoving everything back down where it belonged. “Dream will kill you. He’ll have me kill you, more likely.”

“That’s okay,” Tubbo said. “I know you wouldn’t kill me, Tommy. Even if Dream ordered you to. I know you, you’re my best friend.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tommy said. “I do what Dream says.”

“I know. You told us. But you won’t kill me, I know it.”

“Tubbo,” Phil said warningly, but Tubbo ignored him.

“If you think you could kill me, then do it. Right now.” Tubbo pulled out a knife from his jacket. Tommy recognized it as the same one Tubbo had used throughout most of the war against Dream. It was his favorite. It doubled as a little toy he liked to play with, something terribly amusing. Tommy remembered when they used to play the game that they’d played with pencils as kids, sticking the knife in the spaces between their fingers as fast as they could. They’d gotten good at it, too, and still had all their fingers, although they’d certainly experienced more than a few bad cuts from the games.

This would be a lot more than a bad cut.

Tommy took the knife. It was not a throwing knife, not in the slightest. Throwing knives were fucking stupid, anyway. Dream had trained him with them, but it was so wasteful. You threw it, and then it was gone. If it missed, you’d just armed your enemy further. Tubbo’s knife wasn’t a throwing knife, and it wouldn’t throw like one.

Tommy launched it. 

It landed on the floor. Just how he’d meant it to. It didn’t come anywhere near Tubbo.

“See,” Tubbo said. “You can’t kill me. You’d never kill me. I knew it.”

“What did you mean that I told you I’d do what Dream said?”

Tubbo looked at him in confusion, tilting his head. “You just gave us that whole speech on everything Dream did to you, Tommy. And about how you listen to him because it’s easier.”

Oh, god. What else had he said out loud? “No, I told Wilbur that stuff,” he insisted.

“Tommy, you know Wilbur’s dead, right?”  
  
“ _Yes,_ ” he snapped. “It was- I was dreaming. I was just dreaming and I woke up with you around me.”

“Tommy, you were wide awake the entire time,” Phil said.

Fuck. No, it couldn’t be happening. He was weak. Dream had made him strong, but he was weak now, ruined, undone by the memory of his stupid dead brother. And speaking of stupid brothers….

“Techno,” Tommy said.

“What about him?” Phil aked.

“Couldn’t be arsed to save his poor lost brother, could he. Had better things to do? Farming more potatoes, I imagine? Punching walls?”

The door flew open and shut just as quickly, with Technoblade slipping into the room in-between. “Waiting right outside,” Techno said, his voice the same. 

“And why didn’t you come in until you mentioned my name?”

“Because I assumed you hated me and my presence would only hinder the process of getting you back,” Techno said. “Because I want you home and safe, and the best way for me to do that is to stay away.”

“Don’t act like you give a shit about me.”

“I know you have no reason to believe me, and you don’t have to. But I do give a shit, Tommy. It was Wilbur I disliked, not you. It was Wilbur I hated for what he was doing to you, and now it’s Dream I want dead, not you. Never you. I was supposed to protect you and I failed, so miserably. We all were, and we all failed. So if you hate me, if you don’t believe me, that’s fine, but I’m going to make sure you’re safe anyway.”

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn’t happening. “You almost _killed_ me."

“I know. There’s no excuse for that. I didn’t want to do it, and I’m sorry. That’s all I can offer you.”

Tommy had expected Techno to say something about how Tommy had started the fight, how Tommy had pushed him because he knew Techno could lose control, how it was all Tommy’s fault, really. He hadn’t expected this. 

He hadn’t expected any of this.

“So when you said you’d take me home,” he said slowly, making sure he was getting it right, “you didn’t mean death, right? It was Wilbur saying it to me, so I thought he meant for me to die, but it wasn’t really Wilbur, was it? You meant, you’d take me home to you guys.”

“We did,” Tubbo confirmed. “You could live at me and Ranboo’s house, we’ve got a couple extra rooms, I’d even give you my room if you wanted it.”

“You could-” Techno looked terribly awkward. “You could even live with Phil and I again, if you wanted. I know it’d be weird, and you don’t have to. You’d probably be happier with Tubbo and Ranboo, I’m just saying, you have the option-”

“I-” Tommy hadn’t even considered this possibility, that they’d want him back. 

“And we’ll help you with what you were saying earlier,” Phil said, almost resting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, but pulling it back at the last second. He’d listened when Tommy said he didn’t want to be touched, he’d remembered. “About how you push everything down. Techno and I can help you with that.”

“We can?” Techno said in alarm. “Uh, I mean, we can, yep.”

“If you come home,” Phil said, “I promise, after this, if you let us, we’ll take care of everything for you. We’ll get rid of Dream, we’ll be there for you. You can just heal.”

“That sounds,” Tommy paused, considering it. “It sounds nice. I think.”

“You mean it?” Tubbo asked.

“Uh.” He tried to steady himself, staring down at the ground. It had been a while since he’d tried to come up with his own opinions. He’d just gone along with whatever Dream wanted. Did he want this, or did he want to stay with Dream?

He had no idea. But Wilbur would have wanted him to go with Tubbo and his family.

“Yeah, I mean it,” he said. “I’m just.” He leaned back against the wall, reeling from the effort. “Confused. And tired.”

“It’s okay!” Tubbo chirped. “We’ll help you! Tommy, can I hug you?” 

“Not- not right now. Maybe later.”

“That’s okay. It’s okay.” Tubbo didn’t move any closer to him, didn’t pry into what he was thinking. “Anything you want, it’ll be okay with me.”

 _Anything I want._ What the fuck did he want? 

At least now, he’d have time to figure it out.

His eyes were wet again, but this time he wasn't afraid that someone would hear. This time, he just let it happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you were confused there, when wilbur was talking to tommy, it was a combination of what phil and tubbo were saying to him in real life. the memory of tubbo and tommy was a real memory until the end, when tubbo said "i think wilbur's calling me." if you have any more questions i'm happy to answer them in the comments.


	55. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bonnie and clyde or some shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> people get shot in this chapter. y'all get what you probably came here for. enjoy.
> 
> cw or tw idk, a more intense dissociation scene coupled with a super unhealthy ideation of dissociation

God. This was ridiculous. The three of them, just going to town, right fucking next to him. George felt his insides filling up with anger. He’d asked Quackity to come take Sapnap off his hands, not to make out with his boyfriends while practically on top of George's lap. 

He knew he could just get up and move across the room, but his legs felt like lead. His arms were tied down with anchors heavy enough to keep an entire ship rooted in place. Even if his eyes weren’t aching with every moment he kept them open, he would have closed them, because there was nothing in this room he wanted to see.

There were two solutions to this stupid anger. One was to punch the shit out of Quackity, which would be impossible to do when he was weighed down like this and sinking into the couch, and the other was to just… let go.

So he did.

He let himself fall through the cushions and down through the floor, deep underground until the pulling stopped. It was warm down here, and he’d lost all his limbs somewhere along the way, but it didn’t hurt, so that was alright. He could relax in this, maybe. He could stay here for a while.

The anger was gone, all gone, replaced by static. It was beautiful. George felt like he was full of the popcorn static on the old TV from his childhood. It was in his ears, his eyes, his nose, his mouth, it was spilling out of him and swimming in between and it was nothing and he was nothing.

Maybe he was nothing. Maybe he was gone for good this time.

No, he couldn't be that lucky.

He remembered Dream asking him if he liked the feeling, if he liked the dissociation. At the time, he’d given him a firm no, because why would he? When he dissociated, it was always into a nightmare, a blank white expanse, with the full knowledge that he would never know what was about to happen to him. He’d hated it. It was torture, a restriction, disabling him for anyone to have their way with his defenseless body.

This was… different. It wasn’t a prison, it wasn’t a danger. It was an escape.

He laughed to himself, lungless, mouthless. There was nothing of him left, nothing to hurt, nothing to ache. He was free, alone, at peace.

Quackity would be taking Sapnap away from him, and he’d have nothing left to worry about. He could feel like this in the real world. Well, not exactly like this, but he could come back here anytime he wanted. Dream would let him. Dream wouldn't mind. Dream only wanted him to be happy. 

Dream…

George had forgotten that he’d abandoned his body back on the couch. He couldn't be happy here, not yet. He’d let assailants into Dream’s house, and he’d seen that Techno was among them. Techno could kill Dream if he tried. George knew because Dream had told him. 

He’d left Dream on his own. 

The trip back was brief, but painful. He could use his eyes again, and he saw that he hadn't moved, but thankfully the boyfriends- fiancés, now- had. He wasn’t glad to have hands again, but he used them to pry himself out from where he'd sunken deep into the couch. Niki had replaced Quackity at his side and was feeling his pulse, two cold fingers pushing into his neck. He pushed her away and looked around the room.

Except for Niki and Puffy standing over him with a motherly expression on her face, it was empty. Where had everyone gone? “What’s happening?” he asked, pulling himself to his feet. His legs shook like a newborn horse, but he didn't fall.

“Are you okay?” Puffy asked him, feeling his forehead. “You’re burning up, poor thing.”

“Get the fuck off of me.” He slapped weakly her hands and took a few uncertain steps towards the stairs. His head spun, but he ignored it. His feet were still numb, but they carried him for that short distance, so they'd have to do.

“You don’t get to talk to her like that. She was trying to help.” Niki grabbed his arm, and George tried to yank it away, but she was strong and he wasn’t. “Apologize.”

“Niki, stop. He’s confused. I’ll survive,” Puffy said.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he said, and Niki released her grip on him with reluctance. “Where’s Dream?”

“They’re taking care of it upstairs,” Puffy said, her voice soothing. “Don’t worry, George. Everything's going to be okay.”

They thought he was on their side. Why did they think he was on their side? George rubbed his aching head, trying to remember. Well, whatever. It’d be easier to get up there if they didn’t know.

“I have to- I have to be there. I have to be sure, I mean- sorry, just please let me go.”

Puffy and Niki exchanged a glance. “You can go,” Niki said, eyes full of pity. “We’re not here to stop you.”

Suckers. George stumbled up the stairs, forcing himself out of the stupor he was in, ignoring the lingering slowness in his body. Fuck. Every step hurt. He ignored that too. He heard voices, and he slipped into the back of the room unnoticed to hear what they had to say.

“It’s over, Dream,” Quackity said. 

“‘It’s over, Dream,’” Dream mimicked. “‘I have the high ground.’ You sound like an idiot.”

George took in the scene. Bad, Ant, Sam, Techno, Quackity, Jack, Eret, Fundy, and Ranboo all pointed weapons at Dream. Karl, Phil, and Tubbo were notably absent. Puffy and Niki entered the room behind him, also joining in, pulling out their guns. George, unarmed, felt very conspicuous. 

He knew Dream must have spotted him, because Dream wasn’t one to miss details, so he spent a good amount of time staring at him until he was sure Dream was looking back (it was hard to tell when he had the mask on) and nodded just slightly, so he’d understand. Dream nodded back, a barely perceptible motion. No one but George would notice it. 

“Okay, fair,” Quackity conceded. “But you’re just going to have to deal with it, because I won.” He looked around. “ _ We  _ won. You’re alone now, what are you going to do?”

“Oh, you think I’m alone?” Dream asked. “That’s cute.”

“You are, idiot. You’ve got no one left on your side, because all you did was manipulate them into joining you. They all ditched you pretty quick, when given the chance.”

“What if I told you there’s two people in this room right now who’d do anything I asked of them?”

George scanned the room again. There was obviously no one but him. Was he just bluffing? It was certainly a Dream thing to do, to exaggerate and lie and cheat his way out of a tight corner. “I’d say you’re bullshitting me,” Quackity said. “We’re taking you in, Dream. We can’t let you run around hurting people anymore, understand?”

“Okay,” Dream said. “Okay, do it now.”

Fuck it. George ran to him, nearly tripping over Sam’s leg in the process and kicking Ranboo over on complete accident. He pulled Dream’s mask off and kissed him, and while everyone was frozen in shock, fired six shots blindly into the crowd. Blood spurted from at least two of the bullets, screams came from a few different people, and they all began returning fire. But it didn’t matter, because he was in Dream’s arms and Dream was already kicking open the window behind them (how stupid were they to allow them this escape?) and jumping out, pulling George with him. 

They landed hard. It didn't matter. A few people jumped out after them, but George's legs were okay, so he ran, he just fucking ran.

He smelled blood on Dream beside him, but George knew he could handle it. He wasn’t hurt himself, or if he was, adrenaline wouldn’t let him feel it until later, so it didn’t matter. He followed blindly as Dream made his way towards the van, which was now parked a few houses down rather than in front of the house. They probably would have slashed the tires if they’d seen it in the driveway as normal. Had Dream known this was coming? Or was it a coincidence?

George leaped in the passenger seat and Dream gunned the engine, leaving everyone who’d chased them in the dust. He passed George his own gun, and George leaned out the window and fired a few more shots. He had no hope or intention of hitting anyone, especially with how blurry his vision was becoming. Soon, they were out of sight.    


Both Sam and Techno had working vehicles, but neither used them very often. No one pursued them. No one was coming. George heaved a sigh of relief.    


They were alone. Just him and Dream, just how he wanted it. 

“That was so fucking hot,” Dream told him, face slick with sweat. “You have no idea.” George did have some idea, actually. He was beginning to get it. 

The static was sinking back into his head, filling him with that wonderful dream fog. Dream fog. He laughed at that. Was Dream the cause of the fog? Probably. It was nice. He’d be gone in a few more moments, so he looked at Dream, whose eyes were focused on George rather than the road, and said the thing he’d been saving for the past couple days.

“Dream,” he said, “I love you.”

He meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does this qualify as dead dove yet? if not, it sure as shit will soon
> 
> honestly i don't really fully understand the dead dove tag. should i have added it from the beginning? does it apply to this story at any point? pls let me know it would be helpful


	56. Sapnap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look, another chapter of sapnap angst, that's different!

Sapnap woke up _in his own bed._

Not only that, but Karl was curled up next to him, and when Quackity noticed from across the room that he was awake, he immediately returned to Sapnap’s side, stroking his hair and giving him gentle, reassuring kisses from his cheeks down to his neck and collarbone. It filled him with a warmth that he hadn’t felt in so, so long. He leaned into it, making quiet noises of contentment so Quackity would know not to stop. He prayed Quackity would know not to stop.

Karl woke up at the noise and quickly situated himself so he was curled around Sapnap, spooning him in an embrace. It nearly brought him to tears. It was a rare day when Sapnap got to be the little spoon. Karl always went on and on about how good Sapnap was at hugs and how nice those big, strong arms felt around him, and Quackity insisted he was too small to be the big spoon, so it was always, always up to Sapnap. 

This time, though, he was quickly subject to a two-way spooning, and it pushed him over the edge.

“Oh, god, babe, are you okay?” Karl asked, pulling away and grabbing him a tissue. Sapnap wished he could tell Karl that he was fine, but it was hard because the sobs were wracking his body. He felt so small in that bed with his knees pulled up to his chest. He felt meaningless, especially with Karl’s body heat subdued and distanced.

“Come back,” he said shakily, and Karl did exactly that, and he could breathe again. 

“We love you, it’s okay,” Quackity whispered in his right ear over and over. Sapnap would normally think it was weird and dorky, but right now it was what he needed. He took deep breaths, matching his breathing patterns to Karl, whose breaths he could hear the best. He let himself be held.

“I just love you guys so much,” he said, sniffling, and they both pressed closer. “I missed you so, so much. I thought about you all the time and I wanted you back but Dream said you’d never join us so I had to forget about you but I didn’t want to, I never wanted to, I hated it.”

“Everything’s okay now,” Quackity promised. “You don’t have to worry about anything. You don’t have to fight anyone anymore. You can stay here all day with Karl and be safe.”

Safe. That was good. Sapnap was used to keeping people safe, but he was happy to try it from the other way around. It might be a nice change of pace.

Except…

“I don’t really know what’s happening,” he said. The tissue Karl had given him was a bunch of soggy string in his hands now, and his face was still sticky with hot tears, but at least his voice was done wobbling. “I don’t… I don’t remember how I got here. Wasn’t I at the other house before this? I think I fell asleep or something, I don’t know, I’m so confused.”

“Yeah, you were asleep,” Karl confirmed, his voice overly cheery. “You were pretty out of it, but we got you home safely. You woke up and we got some food in you, but you didn’t seem too aware of what was happening. That’s okay, though, we didn’t mind.”

“You guys got everyone else out, though, right? Is George okay? Is Punz okay? Where are they?”

“I think Punz went with Bad and Sam,” Quackity said, sounding oddly strangled. “Tommy’s with his family now. Phil assured me he’d be getting the help he needs.”

“I asked about George.” Sapnap was remembering now, how George had been acting before everything happened. His head felt so jumbled, but he thought George might have been there, sick and shivering beside them while Quackity and Karl ignored him in favor of Sapnap. “Did Dream get him? He was really sick, wasn’t he? Please don’t tell me Dream got him…” 

He remembered things from earlier on. George telling him they had to escape, over and over. George reminding him of his boyfriends back home. George in his arms, promising him he would get them out of there. 

Sapnap didn’t want to be out of there if George wasn’t. He needed them both to be safe, or there was no safety at all.

“Sapnap,” Quackity started, and it didn’t matter. Sapnap already knew.

“No!” he shouted, kicking his legs out. He thought he might have kicked one of them in the shins. He heard the slightest noise of pain. “No, no, no, no, we have to get him back, we can’t leave him there, Dream could hurt him if I’m not there, we have to-” He sat up, but he felt so weak and exhausted, and his boyfriends were easily able to push him back down. He didn’t struggle against them. He couldn’t do that. “Did you let it happen? How could you do that? All I wanted was for George to be safe!”

Beside him, Karl was crying softly. He hadn’t meant to do that. That was his fault. He’d made Karl cry. Oh, god. 

But _George-_

“Hey,” Quackity said softly, “hey, calm down for us, okay? Relax, listen to me. Listen to my voice, don’t work yourself up into a panic. You’re freaking out right now. It’ll be easier to figure things out if you’re calmer, it’ll be easier to remember later.”

He was right. Sapnap’s entire face felt hot; he was sure it was flushed a violent shade of red. His heart was pounding out a stupid rhythm in his chest, threatening to break free from his ribcage like it would whenever Dream came too close to him. He pressed a hand down against it and shoved down like it would make a difference. 

Did it? He felt like it did. Maybe that was enough. “I’m sorry, Karl,” he said. Beside him, Karl was furiously rubbing at his face, trying to get the tears to stop. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m just a big ol’ crybaby, you know me,” Karl sniffled. “I forgive you, babe.”

“Can I sit up now?” Sapnap asked. Quackity nodded, moving his hands from Sapnap’s chest, and Sapnap propped himself up against the headboard of the bed, hugging his pillow in his arms. Karl positioned himself beside him, tangling his legs in Sapnap’s, resting his head in the crook of Sapnap’s shoulder. Karl’s lips just barely brushed a place along his collarbone, and he shivered, but not in a bad way. “Can you- can you tell me what happened?” he asked Quackity. “Please don’t lie to make me feel better, just tell me the truth.”

“George went with Dream,” Quackity said, and Sapnap nodded. He’d already figured that much out. 

“We have to get him back, then,” he said. “I’m not letting Dream have him. Me and Dream had a deal, and if I’m not there, I don’t know what’ll happen to George. I can’t let him get hurt. I have to keep him safe. Can you guys help me?”

“Uh, babe, it’s not like that,” Karl said. 

“George was passed out on the couch, so we left him with Puffy and Niki,” Quackity explained, speaking very quickly as if it might hurt less. “Niki told me he got up, seeming very agitated, and went upstairs to where the rest of us were talking to Dream. Sapnap, he-” He broke off, making deliberate eye contact with Sapnap, his face apologetic. “He shot people,” he said. “He fired his gun at all of us and ran off with Dream. I’m sorry.”

“No, he wouldn’t do that,” Sapnap said, shaking his head. It didn’t even sound right. “George hates Dream! He was the one who tried to get me to hate him too, the whole time we were there. He always wanted to escape. He wouldn’t run off with Dream like that, you must have seen it wrong. He would never.”

“It’s true,” Karl said. “I’m sorry, Sapnap. I wasn’t there, but everyone else saw it. Three people have the bullet wounds to prove it. I don’t want it to be true either, I’m so sorry.”

“No, I can’t fucking-” Sapnap felt himself getting upset again. He couldn’t make Karl cry, not again. He balled his hands into fists and tried to breathe in and out, tried to remember he was safe. It didn’t work. George was gone, George was really gone, all that was left was whatever Dream had made him…

“Sapnap?” Karl asked timidly.

“Who did he shoot?” Sapnap asked, his eyes squeezed shut. “Who did he hurt?”

“They’re going to recover. They’ll be fine, don’t worry. They’re already being taken care of, everyone’s alright.”

_“Just tell me who he hurt.”_

“Sam, Niki, and Fundy," Quackity rattled off quickly, as if speaking the words faster would make them easier to hear. "He didn’t aim, Sapnap, it wasn’t like he was targeting anyone. It was completely random.”

“That’s worse,” Sapnap said. “That's so much worse than if he was trying to kill someone specific. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t mind if he kills someone, he doesn’t mind if he kills a fucking child. He knows I would never want them to be hurt, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about me.”

“No, no, he does,” Quackity reassured him. “Believe me. I think you’re the only one he does care about right now, besides Dream. He got you out, you know. He was writing to me, he gave me the address and told me to save you. He wanted you out of there. He wanted you safe with us.”

“That’s not the same as caring.”

“It is caring,” Karl said. “It’s just that he’s all fucked up now, so he doesn’t know how to do it right.”

“He shot people! That’s not caring! I- _fuck._ ” Sapnap slumped back down under the covers. They were warm, and he was cold, so cold. It wasn’t even cold inside the house, he didn’t think, but he couldn’t really tell because of how cold he was. “I want George,” he said. “I have to get him back. Dream’s going to hurt him if I’m not there.”

“I know, baby, I know.” Quackity began massaging his shoulder, and after a moment Karl did the same on his other side. It felt so good, Sapnap hoped they never stopped. “But he doesn’t want to be back. He wants Dream.”

“Then I have to-” Sapnap was stopped by the sudden feeling of pleasure and relaxation flooding his body, overcoming his senses for a moment. Karl was looking down at him with such tenderness, it nearly brought him to tears again. “Then I have to get rid of Dream.”

“Believe me,” Quackity said, “we’re trying.”

“We’ll do our best,” Karl promised. “Right now, you need to rest.”

Rest. Sapnap didn’t want to rest. He couldn’t rest. He needed to save George. He didn’t deserve to take a break and have his boyfriends pamper him, not after everything he’d done to hurt them. 

He didn’t deserve this. 

He let himself sink into a hazy state of relaxation, half-asleep, resolving to get to work the second they were gone. He knew the best places he could find Dream, he knew what to say to get George to listen. He could do it better than any of them, he knew it.

He had to go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the addition of this chapter makes 80k words, which is. just. fucking insane oh my god. i'm going to hit 100k words by the end of this one. that is absolutely wild to me. i have never written anywhere near 100k words on a single, cohesive writing project in my life. 
> 
> i fully intend on continuing to push through this until it's finished. i don't know how long that'll be. but i do know that once it's over, i have about six other projects i could choose from to start working on, so i'm not gonna quit there. i've got the karlnap time travel story that i'll make sure to finish next if i haven't already, i've got a pirate karlnapity au in drafts, i've got a dadboyhalo piece that is so fucking self-indulgent i'll have to tag it with tooth-rotting fluff, and i've got the sbi faery au. all of which are, in my opinion, pretty solid options. i've also got something else that i'll just stay quiet on for now.
> 
> honestly, i'm finally getting a bit burnt out on this, but i'm not gonna short you guys of a complete story. i'm finishing this bitch if it kills me. i've got a solid direction that i'm headed in, i've got it all planned out. it's gonna be fun. it's gonna be so fucking angsty.


	57. Niki

“First order of business.” Quackity dropped the notebook he was holding on the table. Niki sat back, watching as everyone crowded around to read what was on it. She wasn’t about to get in the mix and jostle her arm in the process; she was lucky that Puffy had even let her come to the war council after being shot just a few days ago.

Her left arm was limp and useless in a sling, wrapped in bandages beneath it, but at least she was here. Sam and Fundy were not. Puffy and Phil hadn’t allowed them out of the little infirmary they’d set up. Niki supposed she should be thankful that the bullet had only hit her arm. The other two hadn’t been so lucky.

“This is just a list of all of our names,” Bad said, confused. “What’s the point of this?”

“No it’s not. I’m not on here,” Tubbo said.

Niki held out her good arm expectantly, and after a brief moment someone passed her the list. “This is a list of people who were there when Dream said he had two people in the room who would do anything he asked,” she said. “Am I right?”

“You’re right, Niki. As usual.” Quackity took the list back and pulled out a pen. “I think we can safely assume that George was one of them. Which means one of the people on this list is still allied with Dream. One of the people on this list is a spy.”

He let the accusation fly around the room, almost grinning as they all began to cast looks of suspicion at each other. He shouldn’t be grinning, but Niki knew why he was. He felt in control again, and he couldn’t help but enjoy it. 

If Puffy were here, she would have been furious. Niki only sat back and watched.

“Well, we can cross off the people who got shot,” Eret said, clearly in an effort to protect Fundy. It was always their primary concern, now more so than ever. As a side effect, it cleared Niki, too, which she wasn’t terribly upset about.

“We can’t, actually,” Quackity said. “George wasn’t aiming for anyone. It was random. There’s no telling if he even knew who the other person was. Not to mention, I would never put it past Dream to shoot an ally as a red herring, and you shouldn’t either.”

“Fine,” Eret conceded. “But cross off the kids, at least.”

“Can’t do that either, I’m afraid. You’ve always been too hung up on ages, Eret. There’s not some magic that happens at the age of eighteen that turns an innocent child into a capable adult. Believe me, I know.” 

Niki propped up her legs on the meeting table. “Just cross Fundy off the list, Q. You know it’s not him, and it won’t hurt anything.”

Quackity would never stand for being bossed around, not anymore, not if it was anyone but Niki. But it was Niki, so he raised an eyebrow and crossed Fundy off the list.

“Who else can we easily eliminate?” he asked. 

“Niki,” Jack Manifold said loyally. Niki gave him an appreciative nod. “I trust her completely.”

“Me too,” Quackity agreed. “Jack, I’m crossing you off because your entire personality is hating Dream, and because you can’t lie to save your life.” Niki’s and Jack’s names were scratched out from the list.

“It’s not Ranboo,” Tubbo added. “Obviously.”

“Why can’t it be?” Jack said scathingly. “What if it is and he’s just forgotten about it?”

“That’s stupid. If he’s forgotten, how would he remember to help Dream?” Tubbo said as Ranboo’s face turned a terrified shade of red. It wasn’t guilt, Niki knew, just anxiety at being the subject of negative attention. Ranboo had always been an incredibly anxious person. 

“Jack, I appreciate your vigilance, but come on. It’s not Ranboo.” Quackity crossed off Ranboo’s name too. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s not Antfrost either. That whole interaction between you and George outside Sapnap’s and my old house read as very genuine to me.”

“Thanks,” Ant said, his hand going to the still-healing wound across his throat. It had scabbed over by now, but Niki could understand his lingering fear.

“That leaves Bad, Techno, me, Puffy, Eret, Sam,” Quackity listed. “I’ll be honest, there’s no way it’s Puffy, because she’s way too much of a pacifist to align herself with Dream, and I don’t think it’s Techno because he’d kick my ass if I accused him of anything.”

“True,” Techno agreed, his voice as deadpan as ever. 

“And obviously I don’t think it’s me. I have no reason to suspect Bad either. I don’t know Sam that well, but he’s not here to defend himself.” 

Quackity’s eyes fell to Eret.

“Ah.” Eret leaned back, kicking aside the frayed edges of the long cape they wore. Niki always admired their fashion sense. “I see how it is, Q.”

Well, shit.   
  
Niki and Eret were old friends. They’d found each other by chance after the outbreak, and they’d helped each other survive until they stumbled upon Dream’s town. When Eret betrayed L’Manburg, Niki was one of the only ones who deigned to speak with them. She knew Eret considered her a close friend and ally.

On the other hand, Niki and Quackity had been pushed together by war. They were the same age when it began, and they had ended up as very close friends. She relied on Q to protect her through Schlatt’s reign. She trusted him before it and afterwards. She knew Quackity had her back, always. They had the same goals, the same anger, the same distrust.

“Look at the facts, Eret,” Quackity said, circling their name on the page with a certain cruelty. “You’ve got a history of betrayal, don’t you?”

“That was a long time ago,” Eret protested weakly. 

“Dream’s worked with you before, he seems happy to work with you again. Am I wrong? Or did he not tell you, after that little scene where you threatened his boyfriend, to come talk to him sometime?” Quackity ditched the notebook, taking a few steps in Eret’s direction. “Did you take him up on his offer, Eret?”

“Of course not, I-” Eret’s eyes darted around the room. “Do you seriously think I’d have anything to do with that bastard after he threatened Fundy? And then he just had him shot! I’d never let Fundy be hurt, not if I could prevent it, you  _ know  _ that, Q. All I’ve ever cared about is his safety.” 

“Sure,” Quackity said. “Unless Dream’s convinced you again that the best way to keep Fundy safe is to ally yourself with him. He’s done it before, after all.”

Across the room, Bad coughed into his hand. “Quackity, if you don’t mind, I don’t think an interrogation is going to do much good here. Especially not with everyone watching. If you really think Eret’s a traitor, we need to do this the civilized way. We need to try to gather evidence that points one way or the other.”

Niki saw fury flash through Quackity’s eyes, but only for a moment. “Of course, Bad, you’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself here.” He raised his hands in surrender. His eyes returned to Eret, but this time they were calmer. “Do you have any real proof that you can’t be the traitor, Eret?”

“I- I don’t know,” Eret said, “but I’ll do whatever you like to prove it from here on out. I want to exonerate myself. I’m innocent, and I don’t want anyone to think otherwise.”

“You’ll do whatever I like?” 

Niki wasn’t sure she liked the new expression on Q’s face. It reminded her of something, though she wasn’t sure what. “Quackity, if I may,” she said, rising to her feet, “I have a suggestion.”

“Go ahead, Niki.” His eyes softened when they landed on her, as they always did. 

“It’s a simple solution, really. If we’re all in agreement, we could put them under house arrest and have someone watch over them. I could do it, if you wanted.”

“Not unless Fundy’s home with me,” Eret said immediately. “I’ll agree to it if Fundy’s brought home. That’s my condition.”

“That’s reasonable,” Bad said. “It’s probably as fair as we’re going to get. I say we do it, and I think Niki would be a fine enforcer. She has my trust as well.” Niki had no idea what she’d done to earn Bad’s trust, but she wasn’t going to complain.

She noticed Tubbo looking around the room, clearly feeling outnumbered. Neither Karl nor Puffy were present, the two people that would have been the most outspoken against the idea of putting Eret in house arrest. He only had Ranboo on his side, and Ranboo was not the strongest of advocates. He looked resigned. “Does everyone want this?” he asked. 

“I think so,” Jack said, nodding. Niki found herself nodding along as well. No, she didn’t want Eret under house arrest, but she did want them safe and free from suspicion, and this was one way of doing it.

She’d get plenty of time to talk to Eret about it soon.

“Then it’s done,” Quackity said, hearing no further dissent from the room. “Eret, after the meeting concludes, Niki will take you home, and I’ll have Puffy drop Fundy off by the end of the day if she deems him well enough to be released, how’s that?”

“I think that’s as fair as I’m going to get,” Eret said, their head bowed in resignation. They didn’t sound terribly upset, but Niki felt guilty regardless. It had been her idea, after all. She’d only jumped in because she didn’t want to hear whatever plan Quackity had been formulating, but she was far from blameless. 

She’d been trying to protect both of her friends at once. But she couldn’t help thinking that she’d helped neither.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise niki pov! had fun with this one. fundy enjoyers rejoice, tomorrow you will be blessed with fundy pov once more
> 
> things are looking grim for me, boys. all day yesterday and today my tongue has been bothering me. i think i somehow cut it on the sides of my teeth. it hurts to chew or move it around too much. i think it might be some mysterious force getting back at me on behalf of the characters of this story, which is Very Bad because i've just shot three of them. so, uh, wish me luck?


	58. Fundy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the cryptid child returns.

“Niki, this feels _wrong._ ”

“I know.”

“You know what it reminds me of? It reminds me of Schlatt. Didn’t he put _you_ under house arrest? And Quackity had to guard you? Have you both forgotten about that?”

Niki sighed. “I get it, Puffy. And part of me agrees with you. But you have to admit, it doesn’t look good for Eret. I was there, I heard how Dream spoke to them.”

Fundy limped alongside Puffy, struggling with the crutches. They weren’t built for someone of his diminutive stature. Eret had told him a few months ago that he was finally hitting his growth spurt, but right now it didn’t feel like it.

He didn’t complain about the constant pain in his leg, or inquire into what Niki and Puffy were talking about. He knew already, anyway. He’d overheard Quackity explain it to Puffy, but that was no example of his skill. Their raised voices had carried through the entire infirmary, causing Punz to throw things in frustration in the room beside Fundy’s. He’d probably been trying to sleep.

Fundy had never been shot before, but Tubbo had, and Fundy had unfortunately been witness to that excruciating process. He’d watched in disgust and interest as Tommy had sobbed over a pair of tweezers, digging around in the flesh of Tubbo’s leg in search of the slug. Luckily, Fundy had been unconscious when he’d undergone the same procedure, and he’d woken up surrounded by concerned faces instead of Wilbur patting him on the back and calling him strong. That was all he’d done for Tubbo at the time. He hadn’t cared.

Now he had the crutches, and he couldn’t wait to be rid of them.

“Eret’s not a traitor, you know,” he told Niki and Puffy. “They want Dream dead.”

“I know that, honey,” Puffy said, patting his head. It felt endearing, not condescending. Fundy never minded when adults treated him like a little kid. It helped for the disguise, or whatever the word was that Wilbur had always used. Facade, maybe. “And Niki knows that too, right?”

Niki hesitated. “I really don’t think Eret’s on Dream’s side,” she said after a while. “I do think it’s a possibility that they could have been duped again, and I think it’s possible that when Dream said they would do anything he asked, it was an exaggeration. I’m not saying that’s what I believe happened, I’m just saying, it could have happened. We don’t know for sure. Either way, I don’t hold it against them. They’re my friend.”

“Well, I don’t believe it,” Puffy said proudly, “and I don’t think there is a traitor. I think Dream’s a liar.”

“He’s not,” Fundy said. “There is one. But it’s not Eret.” 

“Don’t worry about it so much, Fundy,” Puffy said. “It’s not your problem to deal with. You have to focus on getting better.”

He was already better. He couldn’t put weight on his leg yet, but he could maneuver with the crutches, sort of, and he’d already learned to crawl around pretty silently without hurting his leg. That was good enough for him. “I’ll stay with Eret and be good,” he promised Puffy. There was nothing else he could do at this point.

“That’s wonderful. Maybe you should go inside and talk to Eret now,” Puffy said as they arrived, opening the front door for Fundy. “Do you need help with the step up?”

“Nope, I got it.” Fundy very nearly fell, but played it off. “Eret!” he called into the house. “Dad, are you home?”

Eret came running down the stairs, almost sweeping Fundy off his feet into a hug like they usually did, but stopping themself. “I’m always home now, Fundy,” they said, a bit of bitterness in their voice. “How are you doing with that leg? Is it feeling any better?”

“Loads,” Fundy lied. It still hurt, but he wasn’t a complainer. He limped over to the couch and gladly tossed the wretched crutches to the ground as he collapsed among the cushions. “Don’t worry about me. I’m healing fast.”

“He is,” Puffy confirmed. “He should be good to go off the crutches in two weeks, maybe a little earlier, but make sure you’re making him take it slow. I know how kids are.” Fundy knew Puffy had trained as a paramedic before the apocalypse, which was why she was the town’s dedicated doctor. “Eret, I just wanted to say, about the house arrest thing-”

“It’s okay, Puffy. I agreed to it, I understand why Quackity doesn’t trust me. It is what it is, and there are worse things than being stuck at home.” Eret raised their hands in a peacemaking gesture. “Don’t get mad on my behalf. I’ll be okay.”

“If you’re sure.” Puffy didn’t look quite reassured, but she relented. “I’m sure I’ll be stopping by here often. All my favorite people are here.” She ruffled Fundy’s hair again, and he beamed at her. “So if there’s ever anything you need, all you have to do is ask.”

“Thank you,” Eret said, taking a seat beside Fundy. Fundy gladly scooted closer to them, glad to have physical contact again after spending the past few days in the infirmary. “And thank you for bringing Fundy back safe and sound. All I need is to keep him happy.”

“I’m happy right now,” Fundy told them, and Eret visibly relaxed. Fundy was always able to calm them down by being adorable, and he used that ability frequently. 

“That’s good,” Puffy said. “I’ve got to get back soon, I’ve still got patients, but I’ll be back tomorrow, alright?” She waved, and Fundy waved back, knowing the second she left that Niki would ask him about what he’d said.

“You know it’s not Eret,” she said. “That’s what you said. How do you know that?” 

“I just do,” Fundy said, staring at her. “You’re not gonna change my mind.”

“I appreciate the confidence in me, Fundy,” Eret said. Niki ignored him.

“I’m not trying to change your mind. I want to know how you know. If you have evidence that proves Eret isn’t a traitor, you could get them out of house arrest, you know that, right?”

Fundy shook his head. He wasn’t a good liar. He omitted the truth when necessary, but he didn’t lie well. “I don’t know anything.”

“Yes, you do. I can tell.”

“Niki, if he says he doesn’t know anything then that’s the truth,” Eret said, rushing to Fundy’s defense. Fundy was relieved, but now he felt bad that he’d lied to Eret and they’d bought it. 

“No, no, wait, it’s not,” he said, “I’m sorry, Dad. I just can’t tell you guys.”

“Is it because it’s something you shouldn’t know about?” Eret said. “Would it put you in danger?”

“Maybe, yeah,” Fundy said. It wasn’t really a lie. Everything put him in danger. He was already in danger. He’d been taken captive by Dream, he’d been shot by George. Danger was unavoidable.

“Then I don’t care what it is you know. I don’t want to hear it. I’d rather stay under house arrest than put you in harm’s way again.” Eret smiled at him, and Fundy breathed a sigh of relief. 

“If that’s what you want, Eret, then I’m fine with it,” Niki said. “I don’t want Fundy in danger either.”

He was glad they hadn’t pushed any further. He didn’t want them to know what he’d seen. He didn’t want them to know what he’d found out. He couldn’t tell anybody, ever.

He would protect his friends, his family, the best he could. He didn’t mind if they thought it was the other way around. He’d do anything to help them sleep at night, while he lay wide awake, drowning in the terrible knowledge of how everything would play out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what does fundy know? are the commenters all going to immediately guess it like they did last time? who knows. either way i am staying quiet


	59. Tommy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for a fairly rough mental breakdown scene. panic attack maybe? anger issues and violence. if it helps, i am very sorry for writing this

“You’re making a mess, Tommy.”

Tommy ignored Wilbur’s voice in his head. He’d become louder since Phil had taken Tommy here, speaking in his ear alarmingly often and always, always in his dreams. Sometimes it was comforting to hear Wilbur again, but more often it was disturbing. Wilbur made frequent remarks disparaging Phil and Techno for abandoning Tommy, Tubbo for exiling him, himself for dying and leaving Tommy in Dream’s hands, and of course, Tommy for joining Dream’s side. No matter how many times Tommy told Wilbur that he was done with Dream, Wilbur didn’t seem to believe him. 

“If that was true, you would just go kill him,” he would always return. “You know where he was headed when he escaped with George. You could have gone after him, you could have told them. But you won’t do it, because you’re still on his side.”

It was true. He should have told someone about the lab, but he had yet to do anything useful for anyone. Instead, he sat in the infirmary, uninjured, taking up precious bedspace and forcing Niki to sleep on the couch downstairs for the two days she was bedridden after her injury. Phil reassured him that it was alright, but Tommy knew it wasn’t. He’d hurt them all enough, and he was still doing it. 

And he didn’t even care.

“It doesn’t even matter if you’re with Dream or not,” Wilbur said in his ear. “You’re still ruining their lives by being here. It seems like that’s all you know how to do, Tommy, is ruin everything.”

“Hey, it’s what I’m good at,” Tommy said.

“What are you good at?” Tubbo looked up from the chair at the end of the bed. Tommy had forgotten he was there. He often got caught up in these stupid conversations with Wilbur and forgot what was happening around him. 

“Ruining everything,” Tommy said without thinking. Great, now he’d done it.

“Tommy, that’s not true. You’re not ruining everything, what makes you think that?”   


“I don’t think that,” Tommy said, even though he did. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Phil!” Tubbo yelled, and Phil came running. 

Tommy was sick of Phil. He would hang around him all day and piss Wilbur off. His presence kept Wilbur away, and he would stay by Tommy’s side for hours and talk about dumb things like respecting boundaries and self-care and the recovery process, which Tommy didn’t care about. Once he left, Wilbur would return harsher, crueler, his words like needles poking against skin.

“What's wrong, Tubbo?” Phil asked.

“He’s getting all- what’s the word? All self-meditating.”

“Self-deprecating,” Phil corrected. “Tommy, is something wrong? How are you feeling?”

They kept asking that  _ stupid question.  _ He was sick of it. How was he feeling? Was he doing okay? All this dumb shit about his feelings. Wilbur never asked him about his feelings. Dream only did once, and Tommy had shut that shit down quick. He wasn’t feeling anything, he didn’t have feelings, he was just-

“You want to know how I’m feeling, Dad?” he said. “I'm fucking angry, alright?”

“You are?” Phil didn't sound nearly as concerned about that as he ought to, in Tommy’s opinion. “What about?”

“About you and all the dumb shit you're always asking me. I don’t care about what I’m feeling. I’ve been like this a while and I’ve got it figured out without you, I don’t need your help.”

“You do need our help,” Phil said. “And it’s okay. You can ask for help when you need it, Tommy. There's nothing shameful about it.”

This was the bullshit they'd been feeding him for four days now. None of them had ever been this kind to Tommy in his life, and he wasn't about to forget it, either. He’d agreed to leave Dream, but that didn't mean he forgave them. He was getting his revenge by leeching off their goodwill and being as uncooperative as possible.

“I don’t need your fucking help.” He got out of bed, ignoring Tubbo’s protests that he ‘needed to rest.’ He didn't need to rest, he wasn't ill. “How many times do I have to repeat it before you listen to me? You're not even hearing me, Dad, with all this fake supportive bullshit. You just say whatever you read out of some dumbass child psychology book and don't really care about me. You don't care.” He watched Phil exchange a look with Tubbo, and kicked the wall in frustration. “See, that’s what I  _ mean.  _ You're being so fucking condescending, you’re treating me like I’m fragile-”

“You are fragile, Tommy. You have to accept that.”

“Fragile? I’ll fucking show you fragile, old man.” 

Red filled his vision, blotting out all rational thought. Before he knew what he was doing, he was running forward, arms flinging out, slamming his father against the far wall. 

He heard the horrible sound of bones cracking, and, realizing what he’d done, stepped away quickly. As if it’d absolve him of guilt. Tubbo stared at him in shock, but he couldn't look over at Philza to see what he’d done. If only he didn’t look, it might be alright.

“Phil, are you okay?” Tubbo asked after a moment. 

“I’ll be alright.” Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy saw Phil regaining his balance, sliding down into a chair nearby. He dared to look. Phil leaned forward, hands gently massaging his own back, looking worn out. “Not as young as I used to be, but I’m not seriously injured. Tommy, are you still angry?”

He felt like he was missing something. “Yes,” he growled.

“Punch the wall, then, if you need to.”

Glaring at him, unsure if it was somehow a trick, Tommy shrugged, leaned back, and threw a punch at the sky blue-painted wall. He didn't need to picture anyone's face in the way of his fist; his hatred for the cheerful shade he’d been forced to stare at for the past few days was enough.

He broke through the drywall easily. “Techno was right, you’re much stronger,” Phil said calmly.

“What’s the point of this? What the hell are you trying to do?” 

“Get you to a place where you can access your feelings,” Tubbo piped up. “I think that’s what Techno said, anyway. Sorry if it sucks, big man. We’re kinda winging this.”

_ What. The fuck. _

“What, all that dumb therapy shit you’ve been saying was to piss me off?” Tommy’s hands still quivered with rage, so he took one of his shoes from the floor and threw it across the room with all the force he could muster. Tubbo flinched, but only slightly, and didn't seem bothered. “Well, it worked. I’m angry. Hulk smash or whatever.”

“Anything else you’re feeling?”

“Would you quit fucking asking me that?” Tommy punched the wall again, because, however embarrassing it was to be a teenage boy punching walls, it did help. “I told you already, I- oh.”

He stopped, looking at his hands. His knuckles were bloody, but that wasn't his concern. Behind the anger, he’d ripped open that part of himself that felt things. Tubbo was grinning beside him, as if egging him on.

“No,” Tommy insisted. “No, I’m not doing this.”

“Come on, big man. You've got to. I miss you.”

_ I miss you.  _ God fucking damn it. Tommy snapped off the end of the wooden bedpost. He grabbed hold of the door by its handle and yanked it off from its hinges. That one hurt his shoulders a little, but the pain filled his head with buzzing for a period of time that was entirely too short.

“Come on, Tommy,” Phil encouraged. He didn't seem slighted that Tommy was destroying a room that wasn't even his. It was a hospital, and he was ruining it. Just like he ruined everything. Just like he ruined everything.

He collapsed to the floor with an uncontained sob.

“Get the hell away from me!” he heard himself scream. “Get out right now or I’ll kill you myself!”

“What do you need?” Phil asked, trying to remain calm, while Tubbo’s composure snapped like a twig. Tommy didn't care. He didn't fucking care. He knew he was no more hurt than he’d been a few moments before, but his body felt like it was collapsing. His lungs shriveled in his chest like grapes in the sun. His throat constricted, leaving him gasping for breath with watering eyes. He couldn't feel the floor beneath him, or maybe he could but it didn't matter, one of the two.

Wilbur was dead and this was what he’d left Tommy to work with.

He pounded on the carpeted floor, which was much less pliable than the drywall. He howled in pain and agony, wanting every damn person in town to hear it. He hoped they all came running to stamp out that awful noise. He’d take them on one by one or all at once, and if he died fighting, at least they’d never be able to touch him again.

No one came to shut him up. No one yelled at him. No one disrupted him until he was finally able to silence himself.

He lay panting on the floor, flat on his back, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. He longed to climb up and claw holes in that. It wouldn't even be hard. His breathing came no easier, he’d screamed himself hoarse, and he felt no better at all.

“Tommy, I’m so sorry,” Tubbo said, his face just within Tommy’s field of vision. His cheeks were painted with soundless tears. “For everything I ever did to hurt you like that. For doing this, too. Techno said it was the only way, but it felt so awful-”

“Tubbo, you can leave if you can't handle it,” Phil said kindly. “I’m not kicking you out, just letting you know. This isn't all up to you.”

Tubbo nodded and took a step back, but Tommy didn't hear him leave. He felt his teeth grinding together in his mouth and dropped his jaw. There, one small facet of his pain subsided. 

It was enough.   


“Wilbur’s dead,” he said, his voice little more than a gasp of air escaping his lips.

“He is,” Phil said, kneeling down and offering Tommy a hand to help him up. Tommy shook his head, closing his eyes. He was fine on the floor. “I remember it every day when I wake up, like it’s still fresh. I’ve been waiting for it to hurt less, but so far it hasn’t.”

“Yeah,” Tubbo agreed. “Pretty much the same for me. Sometimes it just hits me in the middle of a conversation and I have to pretend like I’m alright. Sometimes I dream he’s still alive and I wake up thinking I’ll get to see him one more time.”

“He still talks to me,” Tommy said, putting all his effort into getting the words out. “He won’t shut the fuck up, actually. I know it isn’t really Wilbur, but sometimes that fact doesn’t matter, because it hurts like it’s him and I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to get it to stop, I don’t know if I even want it to.”

“Like, you actually hear him?” Tubbo asked. “That would be rough. What does he say?”

“Nothing good.” Tommy didn’t want Tubbo to know everything Wilbur said. He didn’t tell them that Wilbur left when Phil was around, either. That was dangerous. 

So was everything.

This was dangerous, what they were forcing him to do. He knew that the feelings he’d kept crushed up inside him for so long were enough to kill him. He’d been collecting things there for much longer than just since Wilbur’s death; it was only after Wilbur died that he’d shoved everything else down too. 

It was like shrapnel stuck in a place too close to his heart. It wasn’t good for him to leave it in there. It could kill him eventually. But it was worse to dig in and get it, because if it was jostled around too much, it’d kill him then and there, faster than anything. One wrong move and it’d all be over.

He felt it in his chest now, dangerously near to some crucial artery. It would get him soon, he was sure. He’d bleed out in front of his family, and he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to stop them.

“Then I’ll say enough good things to balance it out,” Tubbo offered.

He really was good. Tommy didn’t know what he’d been thinking, not forgiving him. He’d feel the worst about leaving Tubbo behind, more than anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me a few days ago: finally i'm wrapping up this story, tying all the loose ends together  
> me this morning: fuck i am being flooded with ideas. wtf
> 
> it will never be over. i will just keep writing forever and ever and you'll all have to keep reading


	60. Tubbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is later than usual because i left my house today. it was terrifying and i'm never doing it again. this chapter is probably shit and i'm sorry.

“How’s Tommy doing?” Ranboo asked.

“Oh, you know,” Tubbo said. “Terrible. In agony. Craving the sweet release of death.”

Ranboo nodded. “Right. Phil’s watching him, though?”

“Like a hawk, big man. Like a hawk.” Tubbo crashed on the couch, his head landing in Ranboo’s lap. Ranboo let out a little yelp of surprise, but didn't shove him away. “I’m exhausted. It was terrifying.”

“And you’re going back tomorrow?”

“Of course. I don’t care how shit it makes me feel. Right now, Tommy feels way shittier, and it’s up to me and Phil and Techno to help him feel better, you know?”

“I know,” Ranboo said, “I just wish- I dunno. I could come with you, you know. I don’t know how much Tommy would want to see me, but I do want to help him.”

“I don’t think you should come yet,” Tubbo said. “You really don’t want to see it, believe me. But soon, yeah, it would be good. Tommy needs reminders that people care about him. Hey-” he changed the subject, not wanting to stay on the topic of Tommy too long, “did you know, I ran into Karl the other day. He and Quackity and Sapnap are all getting married.”

“Married?” Ranboo asked. “Like, all three of them together?”

“Yeah, isn’t that cool?”

“I guess,” Ranboo said, sounding bewildered. “I mean, good for them, by all means. It’s just weird to think of marriage. I thought that was kind of a dead idea, you know?”

“I think it’s romantic, you know? It’s sweet. There’s no point in getting married, there’s no benefit, it’s just proving you love them and care about them. That’s amazing. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re very excited about marriage,” Ranboo observed. “I take it we’ll be attending their wedding.”

“Well, yeah,” Tubbo said. “But, I was thinking. And hear me out on this one. I was thinking I want to get married.”

Ranboo raised an eyebrow. “Get married? Tubbo, I don’t know if you’re forgetting, but you’re seventeen years old. That’s child marriage, I think that’s frowned on.”

“Yeah, well, who’s gonna stop me?”

“Good point.” Ranboo frowned. “But who are you going to marry? You’re not in love with someone, are you? That’s weird.”

“No, no no no. It’s a platonic marriage, Rambo. A marriage of friends. A glorious union of two bros. It’ll be great. Trust me.”

“Okay, but there is no way in hell Tommy is going to agree to this.”

“Of course he wouldn’t! It’s you, Rambo. I’m gonna marry you.”

Tubbo’s grin widened as he watched Ranboo’s expression change. “Uh. Um. What? Why?” Ranboo turned furiously red, putting his hands in front of his face. “Tubbo, I…”

“Platonically,” Tubbo reminded him.

“Yeah, platonically, I- I mean, this is all moving so fast. Take me out for dinner first or something.”

He was laughing, he wasn’t upset. This was going so well. “Rambo, will you marry me?” he asked. “I got you a ring and everything.” He pulled the ring out of his pocket and handed it to him.

“Tubbo, this is a plastic spider ring,” Ranboo said. 

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s…” He sighed. “Sure. Why not.”

“Yes!” Tubbo cheered. “I’m so happy. Rambo, we’re married now.”

“Really? Just like that?” 

“Just like that. We’re married now. You’re my husband. So, husband, what’s been going on with you?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Ranboo said. He slid the little spider ring on his finger. “Just, like, intense paranoia. Nothing unusual.”

Tubbo nodded understandingly. “Because there’s a traitor? That ring glows in the dark, by the way.”

“Good to know.” Ranboo leaned down to grab his backpack off the floor, pulling out a book. He held it to his left and tried not to put his elbow in Tubbo’s face, but ended up awkwardly cradling Tubbo’s head with his arm. “Uh, is this okay?”

“Of course it is, we’re married.” 

“Right. Well, this is a new book I’ve been working on about who the traitor is. I think it could be Eret, but there’s no reason to assume it is. I know we all trust Quackity again, but honestly, I don’t.”

“What, you think Quackity is the traitor?” Tubbo sat up and looked at the book. Ranboo glanced sideways at him, but didn’t yank it out of his sight for once, which was… well, incredible. It was incredible.

Tubbo should have married him years ago.   


“I don’t think Quackity is the traitor. But I don’t  _ not  _ think he’s the traitor either.”

“Makes sense,” Tubbo said, nodding along. He read the page that Ranboo had open, which was just a list of the names with some crossed off. “I see you’ve eliminated Puffy, Sam, and Techno?”

“I know it’s not them,” Ranboo said. “Those are the only ones I’m certain of. Everyone else has got a page or two. Some of them have got more. I can show you them if you want, I mean, it’s not super personal, so I don’t really mind it…”

“You can trust me,” Tubbo promised him. Ranboo handed him the book, and Tubbo flipped through the pages. He landed on Jack Manifold’s page at random.

Ranboo’s handwriting was neat at times but messy at others, and he didn’t use capital letters in his writing. Jack’s page didn’t have much.  _ extremely suspicious,  _ it read,  _ but I’m not sure he’s the traitor. quackity said hating dream is his entire personality. hates l’manburg- dream hates l’manburg- common enemy? he doesn’t live with anyone else and no one knows where he goes or what he does. talks to niki sometimes. no information. overall opinion: maybe idk _

“This is good,” Tubbo said. “This is really good. Seriously, you might be onto something with your whole writing-shit-down thing. You’re a genius, probably.”

“I’m not a genius,” Ranboo said. “I can’t remember things, Tubbo. My brain is literally broken.”

“Yeah, but that’s alright. I still think you could be a genius.” Tubbo flipped until he found Quackity’s page, the page he was most interested in. “You’ve got a lot here, huh.”

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t hate Quackity, he used to be my friend. But, things are weird and different now. These are just my thoughts, don’t like…”

“I won’t judge you. I promise. I have thoughts in my brain too, Rambo. It’s okay.” Tubbo skimmed Quackity’s page. He wasn’t a fast reader thanks to his dyslexia, and he didn’t want to make Ranboo sit there and watch him read the whole thing.  _ wanted sapnap back, would do anything? would he have made a deal with dream to get sapnap back? he never told us how he found dream’s house. wants to protect his fiancés. whether he’s traitor or not, he’s been acting sus. don’t trust. don’t trust. do not trust. _

“I think we can trust Q a little more than this,” Tubbo said mildly. “I think he’s alright. But, I mean, you’re titled to your opinion or whatever.”

“Entitled?” Ranboo asked.

“Yeah, that. Who else are you most suspicious of?”

Ranboo took the book and turned it to a different page, handing it back. “Bad?” Tubbo asked. “Wait, why?”

“Uh, do you want me to read it to you? Cause, I mean, I don’t remember.” 

“Yeah, actually. That’d be nice.” 

“Well, it mostly says, Bad’s relationship with Skeppy is a little weird. He’s like, super protective of him. I draw a lot of parallels of how Quackity is with Karl, except that’s romantic… I don’t know if Bad and Skeppy are like, a thing or not…”

“Oh, they totally are,” Tubbo said. “Absolutely. I don’t know, actually, but they have to be.”

“I’ll add that to the book,” Ranboo said, penciling it in. “Okay. Like I was saying, it’s weird. I was thinking, if Dream threatened Skeppy at all, Bad would just do what he wanted without questioning it. Or maybe they’re in it together, you know. Skeppy’s never around because he’s with Dream all the time, and Bad’s here spying on all of us.”

“I mean, it sounds possible, but it’s just something you made up,” Tubbo said. “No offense.”

“No, that’s the thing. Remember how they used to be? Skeppy used to be around all the time, not the most outgoing, but he talked to people. Him and Techno were friends. He used to do stuff. Now he’s always at home. And Bad used to be, like, obscenely nice and calling people muffinheads and all that, but now he’s strict and serious and acting like Quackity. It’s weird. I don’t like it.”

“You know, you’re right,” Tubbo said. “You’re absolutely right. He’s been weird for a while now. Both of them have been. Rambo, you really are a genius. I bet it’s Bad, for sure. You know what? What if Dream kidnapped Skeppy and is making Bad keep it a secret?”

“Uh,” Ranboo said, “I mean, technically, yeah, that’s possible. I can’t prove you wrong.” Tubbo noticed that he didn’t write it down. “The primary suspects are Bad, Quackity and Eret in my book. That’s pretty much it.”

“We should take this to Phil or someone,” Tubbo said. “They won’t listen to me anymore. No one cares that I’m president. I bet Puffy will listen to us too. If I get Phil on our side, then Techno is on our side too, and they’re all scared of Techno. We can-”

“No,” Ranboo said. “Don’t do that. Please. I don’t want them to know, I don’t want people to think I’m, like, accusing people. I could easily be wrong, Tubbo, I can’t be responsible for something like that. I’m not like Quackity. That stuff scares me too much.”

Tubbo thought of Eret in house arrest. He hadn’t thought to feel bad about it, especially since they’d gone so quietly, but now that Ranboo mentioned it, it wasn’t very fair. “You’re right, I think. That would be wrong.”

Ranboo sighed in relief. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he said. “Even if they hurt me.”

"No, no one's gonna hurt you. I'll kick their ass."

Ranboo laughed. "I'm glad."

"You don't sound like you believe me."

"I do, Tubbo. You could kick anyone's ass."

"You're wrong, unfortunately." Tubbo grinned. "But I appreciate it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am on tubbo and ranboo brainrot so now they're fucking married. i don't know why i did this. don't ship them for real in my comments or i will be upset


	61. Karl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Learning a language is a long process. It's not easy. I learned German and used to be fairly fluent before I fell out of practice, but I imagine it's the same with sign language. I tried to insert a degree of realism into this story with the language-learning process.

“You don’t need to come with me, you know,” Sapnap said. 

“I know,” Karl said, sliding his hand into Sapnap’s, “but I want to. I like being with you, wherever you are.”

“That’s cute,” Sapnap said, but he didn’t look as if he really believed it. He pressed a kiss to Karl’s cheek, and it felt genuine. It was his smile that was insincere. His lips curled upward when Karl searched for them, but he knew Sapnap was moping the moment he turned away.

“Look, babe,” he said, “I think we’ve all heard that little voice in our heads that tells us we’re worthless and undeserving. Even me. Sometimes it’s not so easy as just telling it to shut up. That’s what you’re struggling with here, isn’t it?”

Sapnap’s smile collapsed for good. “I’ve been trying, I swear,” he said. “For you guys.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you’re trying, babe. Tell me the specifics.” Karl was close enough to feel the rhythm of Sapnap’s heart, so he squeezed his hand in time to the heartbeats, slowing down gradually to help Sapnap slow down and relax as well. “What’s causing you the problem? I’ll work with you.”

“I guess I’m worried that everyone hates me,” Sapnap said. “I mean, I worked with Dream. I kind of second-handedly hurt a lot of people. I let a lot of bad things happen to a lot of people. I know you’ll say it’s not my fault because I was being manipulated, or I had to prioritize my own safety, but it still happened and I can’t help feeling bad about it. I know it’s stupid.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Karl said. “It’s not a stupid fear at all. Would it make you feel better to talk to as many people as we can about it? They’ll reassure you that they don’t hold anything against you. You can apologize to them, if you want.”

“Yeah, actually. I think that might help a lot.”

“We can start with Punz, can’t we, if we’re headed there anyway? I’m sure he’s someone you feel guilty about, right? Have you guys talked about it?”

“Uh, we didn’t  _ talk,  _ but-”

“Sorry, sorry. Poor choice of words. I meant, have you communicated about it? It was a traumatic experience for you both. It might help to talk it out.”

“You’re becoming some therapist, aren’t you?” Sapnap began squeezing Karl’s hand in return, at entirely random intervals. “I don’t remember you being this smart and helpful before.”

“Should I take that as an insult or a compliment?”

“A compliment, doofus. I would never insult you. You’re an idiot.”

Karl returned the kiss Sapnap had given him earlier. It was only fair. “Come on. Let’s go see Punz now. It’ll be good for you.”

Punz still lived, for now, in the house that Puffy had made into an infirmary. He wasn’t injured, but he didn’t have a place to go. He’d lived alone before, but it was no longer safe for anyone to live by themselves. Dream could easily slip in and kill them, and who knew how long it’d take to find out.

Sapnap had expressed concern earlier that Punz would be feeling lonely. So Karl suggested they visit him. He wasn’t about to let Sapnap out of his sight for a while, not after everything that had happened to him. Even if Karl was ineffectual against any attack from Dream, he’d at least be by Sapnap’s side, invigorating him into resisting. 

Puffy was downstairs, pondering over a notebook with a pen in her hands. She dropped it quickly when they entered, excited to have visitors. “Hey, guys! Sapnap, how are you feeling?”

“Uh.” Sapnap shrunk behind Karl, taken aback. “I dunno.”

“I can imagine.” Puffy put on a sympathetic face. “I’m so glad you’re back with us now. When I saw you that first day, you looked so miserable. I know recovery’s a bitch, but I’m glad you’re safe and at home, you know?”

Puffy was the perfect person for this, Karl thought. She was so warm and caring, especially towards anyone she perceived as hurt. He saw Sapnap perk up a little beside him. “Puffy, I wanted to say sorry for everything I did, like, when I was with Dream. I helped him, and he did a lot of bad stuff. Less people would have gotten hurt if I’d just listened to George in the first place and run away from him.”

“Oh, please. I don’t hold it against you, you know that, right? No one does.” Puffy spread her arms wide. “Come on, bring it in.”

“Oh,” Sapnap said softly, returning Puffy’s hug. He had to bend down a little, because Puffy was very short. “Thank you.”

“Of course! I expect you’re here to see one of my patients?” Puffy asked, stepping back. “It’s only Sam and Punz left, Phil took Tommy home this morning. My hospital is emptying out so quickly.”

“That’s a good thing, though, right?” Karl asked.

“Of course! I’d love nothing more than an empty infirmary. We’re getting there, too. Sam says he’ll take Punz home with him when he’s all healed up, which… well, he got the worst of it, but I think he’ll be back in shape soon. He’s out of bed now, at least. After that, I’ll be with Niki. She’s living with Eret and Fundy now.” There was no mention of the circumstances that had led to Niki’s living arrangement except a slight frown. “Anyway, Punz already has a visitor at the moment, unless he’s snuck out again without telling me. Go on up, he’d love to see you.”

“A visitor?” Sapnap wondered on the way up the stairs. “Who is it?”

“No idea,” Karl said. “Did that make you feel better?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap admitted, his cheeks flushing. “Puffy is so, like,  _ nice.  _ I really don’t think everyone else can be that nice.”

“Yeah, they aren’t. But they don’t hold anything against you either. I promise.”

Sapnap opened the door to Sam’s room first on accident. “Uh, sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to… uh…”

“Punz is two doors down,” Sam said kindly. “I get plenty of visitors, Sapnap, so don’t worry. Bad and Ant are over all the time.” Karl couldn’t see his injury, because all the bandages were under Sam’s shirt, but he knew it had been bad. He’d caught a glimpse of it on the day he’d been shot. The bullet had hit a place close to his stomach, and they’d been worried at first if he would make it or not. Luckily, after a tenuous first night, he’d stabilized. 

“Yeah. I’m really sorry for bothering you. And, you know, that you got shot and everything.”

“I appreciate it. Don’t worry about it.” Sam waved them away.

The next room was empty, and the door in question lay on the floor, separated entirely from its hinges. There were several holes punched in the drywall. Karl chose to mind his business.

Sapnap swung open the third door, which was finally the correct one. Punz sat cross-legged on the bed, and beside him was a familiar face that Karl hadn’t seen in a while. He was sitting backwards on a folding chair, his legs between the gap in the back. His hands were in the middle of a sentence that Karl couldn’t follow. Karl’s sign language was mostly fluent, but his ability to process it was slow.

“Callahan!” Sapnap cheered, running over to hug him. “Oh my god, dude, I haven’t seen you in  _ ages.  _ Punz, is he teaching you sign language?”

_ Yeah. I suck. He’s fast,  _ Punz signed hesitantly.  _ I learned curse words. Bitch dick fuck shit. _

“Dude,” Sapnap said. “Seriously.”

He and Callahan started a lightning-fast sign language conversation that Karl tried his best to follow, but couldn’t. How were they so fast? How did Sapnap know sign language so well? It wasn’t fair. Punz grabbed both of their wrists for a second, stopping them, and signed,  _ Slow down.  _

“Sorry,” Sapnap said, laughing. “I was asking him what he’s been up to.”

_ I went on a few trips outside town. Killed some zombies, found some stuff. I have a car now, and it works. Heard Dream was being an asshole, so I’m back. _ He went slower so Karl could understand. Punz still looked completely lost.

_ Don’t know it,  _ he signed.  _ Can’t- help me?  _ He mimed writing. Callahan taught him the sign for  _ write,  _ and he mimicked it. Karl looked around and found a notebook and pen nearby. He flipped past a few pages already filled up with Punz’s handwriting and handed it to him with a blank page ready to go.

_ I suck at sign language right now. I can’t understand anything you’re saying, Callahan. Be nice to me. _

“I suck at it too, don’t worry,” Karl said. “Basically he said he left town and found a car, but Dream’s being an asshole so he came back.” Callahan nodded his agreement. 

“This is  _ translate, _ ” Sapnap said, showing the sign to Punz. Punz mimicked it a few times until he had it down. “Use that when you need to, and I’ll tell you what he said, how’s that?”

_ Good,  _ Punz signed, but kept the notebook at hand. God, it must have sucked. When Karl had learned sign language and came across a word he didn’t know, he’d simply said it out loud to ask his instructor what to do. Punz didn’t have that luxury. It made Karl furious. It made him want to find Dream and punch him across the face.

Unfortunately, if he tried anything like that, he’d get himself killed.

“I’ve gotta piss,” he told them. “I’ll be right back, okay?” He actually did have to use the bathroom, but mostly he wanted to get out of there and calm down a bit. Karl wasn’t an angry person, he was happy and upbeat and positive. He wanted to stay that way.

He found the bathroom, knowing he had Sam to thank for the running water, even if the water pressure was far from impressive. (Showers sucked. But that was just life now.) While washing his hands, he made sure to breathe in and out, relaxing the tension in his shoulders. It was a familiar ritual when he got upset. It hadn’t worked so well in the months Sapnap had been missing, but now that he was back, Karl found it much easier to get himself under control.

Feeling much better, he returned to his friends. He heard Sapnap’s voice, and, not wanting to interrupt, stood in the hallway outside listening carefully until he was done. There was nothing wrong with that.

“You’re not a snitch, Punz, right?” Sapnap asked. “I know Callahan isn’t. I can talk to you guys, I can trust you.”

Karl froze. He should go in now, he shouldn’t eavesdrop like this. He should trust his boyfriend.

He didn’t move.

“I know a few places where Dream could be,” Sapnap said. “I can find him. I can get George. If I can ditch Karl at some point I can go back there and get George and he’ll be safe.”

Karl heard the scratching of pen against paper that meant Punz was writing something.

“He’s not crazy, I swear. You weren’t there in the beginning, Punz, it was bad. George hates Dream, trust me. He fought against him. He tried to kill him, just like you did. Stabbed him in the heart. Whatever happened, those guys in the room misunderstood it- Dream must have made him do it, somehow. There’s no way he’d go with Dream willingly, I promise. If I find him, he’ll want to come home.”

The confidence in Sapnap’s voice almost broke Karl’s heart. He’d heard eyewitness accounts. George was safe behind the group, Dream didn’t say anything to him, he’d shot three people and ran. It was all so clean-cut. 

“I can use your car, Callahan, if you let me. I’ll bring it back in one piece. Pinky promise.” Karl tried to hold back tears, listening to him. “Just don’t tell Karl or Q, okay? They’ll say I shouldn’t go. But you know me, guys, I’m strong enough. I’ll be fine. I just want to get George back. I’ll change the topic now, Karl’s gonna come back any second.”

A few tears trickled down his cheeks, and he wiped them away quickly. His whole face felt red. He huddled there a few minutes more before composing himself, hoping the heat didn’t show in his face too much, and walking back into the room.

“Hey, babe! Wait, have you been crying?” 

_ Are you okay?  _ Callahan signed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Sorry. I’m a crybaby, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Karl waved them away good-naturedly. “I love you guys.” 

“Aww. I love you too,” Sapnap said. “Want kisses?”

“In front of the homies? You’re insane.”

_ For real. You’re-  _ Callahan made a symbol that Karl didn’t know, which started another signing war between him and Sapnap. Their attention lost, Karl turned to Punz, who was staring at him, urgency in his eyes.

_ You hear?  _ he signed.

_ Yes,  _ Karl signed back.

_ Stop him. Please.  _

_ I will,  _ he promised. Sapnap turned his head to look at Karl again, and Karl beamed at him, feeling like the shittiest boyfriend in the world.


	62. Niki

Niki was fielding complaints from three different people, and it was getting old. 

“I just know it’s Eret,” Quackity said to her, speaking in earnest. His eyes burned with intensity, his arms waving in the air as he spoke. “We sat there and eliminated everyone else on that list, didn't we? Come on, Niki, tell me I’m right here.”

“I won’t lie to you, Q,” Niki said. “It looks bad for Eret, that’s for sure.”

“But you're not saying anything. Which means you disagree. You don’t think it’s them, do you?”

Niki sighed. “My opinion isn’t necessarily the right one. I know that by now. I’m as fallible as anyone, you know.”

“Maybe not,” Quackity said, “but I do appreciate hearing it anyway, Niki. You’re one of the few people I feel I can trust. You’re honest, even if you’re not always kind. You’re purposeful, you're decisive. You’re a good person.”

“If I’m a good person by your standards, Q,” Niki said, “then I’m not so sure I’m good after all.”

“Maybe not,” Quackity admitted. “Does it matter?”

It didn't.

“If it’s not Eret,” Niki said, “just hypothetically, who would be your next suspect?”

“Hmm.” Quackity leaned back in his chair. “I won’t deny that I’ve given this a lot of thought. This is going to sound completely out of the blue, but hear me out.”

Niki nodded, having no idea what name he was going to say. It didn't matter, really. She’d be fine with anyone’s name but Puffy’s.

“I think it’s Ranboo.”

_ What? _

“What?”

“Yes, I know, it’s ridiculous. I just can’t stop thinking about what Jack said. I rejected his idea as soon as he said it, because, well, it’s Jack Manifold. And then I thought about it. You remember how Ranboo used to be back in the day, right? He stumbled in on his own and didn't even have a name, for fuck’s sake. He just came up with one. That kid’s head is messed up.”

“His memory is awful,” Niki agreed. “But I don’t see how that makes him a traitor.”

“Not a traitor. I don't think he’s doing it willingly. I don't think he even knows about it. But he’s very susceptible to peer pressure. Dream could easily threaten him, or let’s say he threatens Tubbo. Says unless Ranboo does whatever Dream needs him to do, he’ll kill Tubbo. Ranboo goes and does it, whatever it is, and Dream makes sure he doesn't write it down, so he goes to sleep, wakes up, forgets all about it. Tell me you couldn't see that happening.”

“I could,” Niki said. “You're right, it’s a perfectly reasonable scenario. Quackity, you're clever and you know how people work, but the thing is, this is all just hypothetical. You made it up.”

"I didn't _make it up,_ I-" Quackity stopped, blinking rapidly. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's okay. It's okay. You're alright, you just got ahead of yourself."

“Right. You’re right. I’m sorry, Niki. I need someone to reign me back in sometimes.” Quackity’s hands still shook a little, but he'd calmed down. He’d managed to get himself all worked up, just like he used to back in the days when it was just him and Niki talking about Schlatt. “You’re always there for me, Niki, aren't you? Longer than anyone else.”

“Yeah,” Niki agreed. “Yeah, Q, I have been.”

“And you always will be?”

“Of course.”

“It’s Quackity,” Jack Manifold said in complete confidence. “He’s always up there, strutting around in front of everyone. It’s sus, that’s what it is. I don’t like it, not one bit. He’s evil. He’s got bad vibes. He’s a liar and a thief and we shouldn’t trust him. It should be me up there and not him, Niki. Me and you.”

“It really shouldn’t,” Niki said, trying not to laugh. “What would you do if you were in charge, Jack?”

“Have everyone rush Dream at once until we get the bastard down and slice his head clean off. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. But listen, it’s Quackity. It has to be. He’s pointing blame at Eret, and it’s not bloody Eret, they’re the only bloke around this place that’s not a complete fucking arsehole to me every day! It’s Quackity, it’s got to be.”

“I agree with you that Quackity’s a liar,” Niki said. “He is one. I know it for a fact. He can’t help but lie and scheme. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of that going around. But I don’t think he’s a traitor for Dream.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because he hates Dream as much as we do.”

Jack threw up his hands. “If it’s not Quackity, then who else is it?”

“I don’t know. I know it’s not Eret, alright? That’s the extent of my knowledge. It’s not Eret or Puffy or Fundy, obviously. I doubt it’s Quackity. Not because he’s better than that, but because he has nothing to gain from Dream.”

“He does too,” Jack said. “Drugs.”

“He gets his drugs from Connor. Who is still in business, by the way. Dream would never mess with Connor.” Despite Connor’s friendship with Schlatt, he was a man that everyone universally decided had done nothing wrong, ever. And it was true, going off the new morality code that was perfectly tolerant of distributing illicit substances and drug paraphernalia to children.

“Not those kinds of drugs,” Jack said, and mimed shooting something into his arm with a needle.

“What, heroin? Come on, Jack.”

“Not heroin, steroids. Whatever Dream’s on. Quackity’s got no meat on his bones, he could probably use the help, right? Imagine that maniac kicking as much ass as Dream does. He’d be unstoppable. Worth anything, really.” Jack looked thoughtful. “Shit, if I didn’t want to bash Dream’s head in so much, it’d be me.”

Niki shook her head. “I know Quackity,” she said. “He’s in the same vein as Wilbur. Uses the power of his words.”

“Sure, whatever,” Jack said dismissively. “It’s either him or Ranboo, anyway.”

“Ranboo? You’re still stuck on that?”

“He forgets, Niki. It’s his whole thing. Besides, you ought to look at him sometime. He should be intimidating with how fuckin’ huge he is, but he’s this timid, scrawny little thing. Like a beanpole. Sus, innit. And how old is he? How old is he, Niki? Nobody knows, do they?”

“He thinks he’s about seventeen or eighteen,” Niki said. “He isn’t sure when his birthday is.”

“Doesn’t know when his birthday is. It’s a surprise he remembers anything at all. He’s a wrongen, Niki, mark my words.”

Niki shook her head. “Jack, I know you don’t like the L’Manburg kids. But they are my friends. I’ve known them for years.”

“See, that’s your problem. You’re friends with them all, you think you can trust them. You can’t trust that many people at once, Niki. I’ve only got you, really. You’re my only friend, the only one I think I can really trust. And that’s alright. If you spread your trust around, you’ll only get betrayed. Too many variables.”

“I’m your only friend?” Niki asked.

“Well, I mean,” Jack said, “Yeah, basically. I’m a standoffish guy, you know. Not too many people can handle Jack Manifold.”

“You really should make more friends, Jack.”

“I don’t need to,” Jack said with a bit of dramatic flair. He might have flipped his hair then, if he’d had any. “I’ve got you, Niki. You’re alright.”

“Did you hear?” Eret asked, still sitting in the same place Niki left them. Had they really sat there the entire day? “Fundy came home a few hours ago and told me. Tubbo and Ranboo are married now.”

“They’re… married?” Of all the things Eret had said to her over the years, this was the one to throw her entirely for a loop. “Like, as a joke?”

“Fundy doesn’t seem to think so. He says Tubbo got the idea from Quackity. I don’t think it’s a romantic thing. They just decided to be married.”

“Alright, sure.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. “Good for them?”

Eret laughed. “I know that’s not the news you were expecting to hear from me. I’ve been thinking more about who the traitor could be. Talking to Fundy. I’m getting a few hunches. Thought I might run some ideas by you.”

“Sure,” Niki said. She wasn’t exhausted enough to turn Eret down, and they were probably the most sensible of the three, anyway.

“I think, first off, that it’s Jack Manifold.”

“You’re joking,” Niki said.

“I’m not, actually. Why, do you think he’s innocent?”

“I do, but that’s besides the point- he thinks it’s Quackity, and Quackity thinks it’s you. It’s all a big loop. This is what I have to deal with, Eret.”

“Then I’m very sorry,” Eret said, “and I won’t mention it again, if you don’t want me to.”

“No, no. It’s fine. You’re not as ridiculous as the other two. You’re very much a rational person. I’m sure you’ve got actual reasoning behind your opinions.”

Eret gave her an embarrassed grin. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry, Niki. My opinion is based entirely off of bad vibes.”

Niki rested her head in her hands. “God. It’s fine. Keep talking.”

“I have other suspects, if you’d like to hear about them.”

“That’s fine.”

“Fundy’s not telling who he thinks is the traitor,” Eret said. “Who he knows is the traitor, more likely. He’s much cleverer than I’ve ever given him credit for, I’m coming to realize. I’m getting the impression that it’s someone he wants to protect from harm. It’s one of his friends, it’s someone he’s close to, someone he trusts. He won’t tell us because he thinks we’d hurt them.”

Niki could see exactly where this was headed.

“He’s very close with Tubbo and Ranboo, and Tubbo wasn’t on that list. I’m thinking Ranboo is the traitor, Niki. I’m thinking Ranboo is the traitor and doesn’t even know it, and Fundy doesn’t want him to be hurt. He’s afraid everyone will turn on Ranboo and throw him out without helping him, protecting him from Dream’s manipulation, and he doesn’t know what else to do besides keep it a secret.”

“You are the third person today who thinks it’s Ranboo,” Niki said.

“Oh. Well, what do you think, Niki? Could it be?”

“I don’t know, Eret. I don’t know what to think. I’m confused by this whole thing. I do think, however, that someone should talk to Ranboo. Just talk to him. We can’t accuse him, he’ll spook.”

“Of course, of course. I wouldn’t dream of turning on him, he’s a child. If it’s true that Dream’s been using him, I wouldn’t put the blame on him at all. I want to help him, Niki, I promise.”

“I believe you,” Niki told him. “It’s the other two I don’t trust so much. Not that I distrust them in general, just that I don’t think they’ll be quite as gentle in their confrontations.”

“Then we keep it between us,” Eret said. “I don't want to involve Quackity or Jack in it. I’ll have Fundy invite Ranboo and Tubbo over sometime and we can discuss things rationally.”

Niki closed her eyes and nodded. She couldn't disagree. “This is a disaster.”

“It won’t be, not if it’s you and me. We’ll take care of it. I trust you, Niki, probably more than anyone else right now. You’re my oldest friend.”

Niki had had friends before Eret, but none survived. This was all she had, now. In that sense, Eret was her oldest friend too. This was what was left. 

Three years and she had yet to come to terms with it. Three years and reality felt as distant as it did that first day when zombies burst into her town and ripped her mother to shreds in front of her eyes. Nothing was real after that moment. Nothing was safe. 

She didn’t tell Eret that she trusted them back. She wasn’t sure if it was true, and she wasn’t going to lie to them. 

“The more I think about it, the more afraid I am,” Eret said. “Please tell me it’s impossible and I’m being stupid, Niki. Tell me there’s no way it’s Ranboo. He’s just a kid.”

“He doesn’t even know his own age,” Niki said. “He could be eighteen. Quackity was right about one thing, Eret, you put too much stock in people’s ages. The difference between seventeen and eighteen isn’t that significant. It’s even less important without things like school and laws.”

“You’re right, Niki.” Eret’s shoulders slumped. “You’re always right.”

She was. She was always right, always trusted, always there for her friends. She was everything for everyone.

She was exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i asked a simple question in a discord server and it spiraled into a debate on whether it's spelled wrongen or wrong 'un. now it's war i guess


	63. Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not big on skephalo, but i tried my best lol

Bad was on his way back home from his final trip to visit Sam and Punz at the hospital. Sam would be released the next day, and Punz was going home with him. Puffy had been thrilled that the infirmary was empty. She planned to return to Niki’s side, admitting to Bad that she was concerned about NIki’s mental state without her. “She’s amazing, Niki is, but she takes it all on herself too often,” Puffy had confided in Bad. “She thinks she can handle it all. She’s so strong. But even strong people need a break sometimes.”

“The same could be said of you, Puffy,” Bad had replied.

“Of course! I know my limits, Bad, don’t worry about me. I’m doing fine.” Puffy’s face had been exhausted, the bags under her eyes growing ever more prominent, but she was as cheerful and smiley as ever for the duration of Bad’s visit. Bad hoped she’d finally get some rest after this. As the most experienced medic, Puffy was indispensable to them all. She always had been, which was why Bad made such an effort to get on her good side.

It hadn’t felt like such a chore before recently, he reflected. There had been a time when he hadn’t minded her company, when they’d been friends. He’d been friends with most people around the server, helping anyone who needed it. His kindness rivalled Puffy’s, maybe surpassed it.

And what had it gotten him? Absolutely nothing.

He opened the door to his house, calling, “It’s me,” so Skeppy would know not to run for the panic room. He settled down on the couch and waited for Skeppy to come downstairs and curl up beside Bad on the couch as he always did. Skeppy was an extremely tactile person, and Bad had no problem indulging him.

It didn’t happen.

After a few minutes, Bad began to get anxious. The usual nightmares filled his head. No matter how many times Skeppy insisted he could take care of himself, Bad could never stop thinking about worst-case-scenarios of Dream finding him, taking him, hurting him. It was stupid, he knew. Bad was far from Dream’s main target. He’d put in a great deal of effort to be in such a position- a voice of authority and wisdom, but no main protagonist. He stood in the background and acted as little more than a foot soldier.

“Skeppy!” he called. There was no response. 

A chill filled the air. Bad took deep breaths, trying to reassure himself that Skeppy had simply fallen asleep somewhere or was too caught up in his own head to hear Bad calling him. If he searched, he’d find Skeppy somewhere in the house, perfectly fine. He didn’t have to panic. He did not have to panic.

He searched downstairs, not expecting to find Skeppy there. There was a much higher chance of him being upstairs. He knew how Skeppy thought by now. The upstairs put more distance between Skeppy and possible assailants, and it was closer to the panic room. He spent most of his time there when Bad was away.

When Bad was home, it was a different story. Skeppy had explained it to him before. He felt less like himself when he was alone, he’d told Bad. He felt untethered, paranoid, as if someone was likely to burst in through the windows and beat him to a pulp at any moment. 

Maybe he was still stuck in that mental state today, for whatever reason, even though he’d heard Bad’s voice. That was still cause for concern, but at least it meant he was safe.

Bad went upstairs, listening for any sounds that meant Skeppy was alive and well. He opened the slat in the wooden wall that led to the panic room, the little closet-sized gap in the walls they’d discovered and furnished last year so Skeppy would always have a safe place to hide during one of his bouts of paranoia. “Are you in here? Geppy, please tell me you’re in here,” he said in his kindest voice. “It’s safe to come out now, I’m here, no one else is home. You’re safe.”

He yanked on the pull chain for the overhead light, and the tiny room lit up to reveal Skeppy, face stained with tear tracks, curled up in a ball and squeezing one of the blankets inside the room tightly in his hands. “Bad?” he asked, opening his eyes. “It’s just you?”

“It’s just me,” Bad answered soothingly. “Did something happen?”

Skeppy shook his head. “Nothing real.”

“Are you ready to come out now?” 

He nodded, a serious expression falling over his face. “Bad, I’ve been meaning to tell you this. I’m gay.”

Bad stared at him for a confused moment before realizing. “Not like  _ that,  _ you muffinhead! Come out of the panic room! It’s not good for you to be cooped up here all day.” He was glad that Skeppy could make jokes, at least. That was a good sign. As long as Skeppy was joking around, as long as he could crack a smile, that meant he wasn’t too far gone.

Skeppy took Bad’s extended hand and pulled himself up, standing in the cramped space. It was a good thing they were both so short, because otherwise they would have smacked their heads on the low-hanging wooden beams across the ceiling. “I know,” he said sheepishly, mopping at his face with his oversized sweater sleeve. “It’s just, I mean- I dunno. You know how it is.”

“I do,” Bad said. “You know I’m not mad at you. I’m never mad.”

“Yeah, I know.” Skeppy let himself be led out of the panic room and downstairs to the couch, where Bad draped a different, much cleaner blanket over him, pulled some of the dust out of his long fluffy hair, and got him a drink of water. Skeppy sipped the water and watched Bad’s expression cautiously. “Bad, I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s okay,” Bad told him. “I know you’re alright now, and that’s what matters. You are alright, aren’t you?”

“As alright as it gets,” Skeppy said, shrugging. Seeing Bad’s expression, he quickly amended, “I’m doing fine. You’re here, so I’m happy.”

Finally convinced, Bad let himself settle down beside him, and Skeppy rested his head on Bad’s shoulder. They sat like that for a while, until they heard a few warning knocks on the front door and Bad saw the doorknob twist.

Skeppy didn’t panic, but simply found Bad’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s only Ant,” he said, “right?”

“Right,” Ant answered, coming inside and seeing the two of them cuddling on the couch together. He shut the door gently behind him. “Something happen today?”

“Nothing important,” Skeppy mumbled. Ant seemed to know exactly what that meant. He nodded, walking to the kitchen, presumably to get himself something to eat. 

“You guys want anything?” he called.

“No,” Skeppy answered.

“Yes,” Bad said. “For both of us. Don’t listen to this muffinhead.”

“Baaaaad, I’m not hungry.”

“Didn’t ask if you were hungry.”

“Oh, Bad, by the way,” Ant said, leaning back from the doorway of the kitchen to look at him. “Once Sam goes home tomorrow, I’m moving in with him and Punz. And possibly Callahan. No idea why Callahan’s joining us, but it’s chill.”

He probably expected Bad not to care, but Bad jumped out of his seat. “You can’t do that!” he said. 

“Why not?” Ant asked. “No offense, dude, I’m tired of third-wheeling.”

“Because what if-” Bad stopped, trying to rationalize his reasoning so Ant would understand. “If something happens to me,” he said, trying to speak the words quietly so Skeppy would be less disturbed by them. It didn’t work. “Who will take care of Skeppy?”

“If something happens, of course Sam and I will take care of him,” Ant said, rolling his eyes. “We’d never ditch him.”

“Yes, but-” The fear still filled his head. Skeppy’s constant paranoia was getting to him too, Bad knew, and there was nothing he could do about it. “It’s just-”

“It’ll be okay, Bad,” Skeppy said, tugging on Bad’s sleeve. “Sit back down, please.” He made a pleading, pouty face, and Bad melted. He relaxed back onto the couch at Skeppy's side.

“Fine,” he relented. “If Skeppy says it’s okay, it’s fine. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep you here if you don’t want to be here.”

“It’s not like that,” Ant said, waving a spoon in the air. “I like you guys fine. It’s just an awkward living situation, seeing you guys all couple-y and shit all the time.”

The unspoken part of that sentence, that Antfrost would never admit, was that he was jealous. Skeppy had lived, and Ant’s boyfriend hadn’t. It wasn’t fair. It was horrible. There was nothing Bad could do about it.

But he could spare him the pain of watching him and Skeppy together every day. That was only fair. 

“I’ll come visit all the time,” Ant assured him. “We’re friends, after all.”

“It’s okay, Ant," Skeppy said. “I get it. I’m kind of a lot to deal with. That’s not a self-deprecating joke, Bad, so don’t start, it’s just a fact. I know it’s true.”

It was true. Bad couldn’t lie to him. But he’d deal with him, gladly, for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning: tomorrow is gonna be a doozy. better come emotionally prepared.


End file.
